Scouts and Maidens
by Cari Shidao
Summary: Vrena had two problems: Her sister who had recently crossed the line separating madness from sanity, and the town that was convinced she was a demon. Now, thanks to Tristan, she has three.
1. Severance

**Wow! It's been a long time since I've even been on this site. I randomly watched Casino Royale last week, and the second I saw Mads Mikkelsen my brain shot into Tristan mode. ****I decided to reminisce a bit and re-read some of my old fanfics for King Arthur, and this was the first one I decided to read. And while doing so...I was compelled to fix a lot of things. Heh.**

**So it's been nearly two years. I'm going to revise every single chapter, re-write stupid parts, and fix those old FFNET glitches that would string words together. I _hated_ them.**

**I hope that those who still read King Arthur fanfiction (I wonder how many? Hmm...) find that these changes make the story more worth-while. Enjoy!**

**Much love, ****Cari.**

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* * *

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**Chapter one- Severance**

* * *

Arvin wasn't going to last much longer.

The cold snapped against Vrena and her once beautiful, now bloody and dirt-covered steed. The snow was beginning to fall harder than ever, and even though she knew it was just her mind playing tricks on her, she could still hear the hooting and yelling from the maddened town folk.

Her back was screaming at her to stop, to just lie down and give up. It felt like hot fire burning every inch of her body, searing from head to toe, but she refused to stop riding. She was much more afraid of what was far behind than what would be lying ahead.

From past knowledge, she knew that she was close to the wall, where one would cross into Roman territory…just a bit further and they would make it, hopefully alive.

Someone there would take care of her. Or would they do as her sister had done?

Stand there and watch her die like an _imbecile_?

Vrena sneered at the thought, but then regretted it when more pain flashed through her. Just the slightest movement made her ache horribly-- but then hell, she had managed to stay on a horse for this long.

She could feel it now. More then she could feel the blood in her once-smooth black hair, or her bruised face, or various other places with slashes and cuts. She wouldn't stay alive much longer.

Despite the horrifying sting in her body and the fact that moving the slightest would worsen her wounds, she did the only thing she thought reasonable.

_When all else fails, and you're about to die, rely on your horse_. The damn beasts are smarter than you think.

Resisting urges to impulsively cry out in pain, Vrena shifted herself so her stomach was on the saddle, and got into the most suitable position possible –_if_ it was possible- and twisted her wrist around the reign to secure herself.

It was going to be a long ride. But she would be dead by the time they got there anyway, it didn't matter anymore.

Nothing mattered anymore.

She no longer felt the burning of her body, only the burning in her heart…everything had been burned. Her life was almost over.

The searing throb of hatred was the last thing she felt before drifting off into unconsciousness.

* * *

Wow…did I write that? 

Short little chapter, I know, but It doesn't really count as a prologue…so I had no choice but to make it a chapter.

Anyway, not all the chapters will be this short! Be happy.

Anyway…yay? Nay? Burn?...-whips out lighter-


	2. Vrena

Before I start with chapter two, I would like to thank all the people who reviewed! Your reviews are what keep me alive and breathing :D

I hope that as I continue on with the story, you will enjoy it just as much. I'll do my best.

_**banatic66**_- Thanks! I'm glad you like it. I had my doubts at first on how good this would be, so you're reviews really cheer me up:D

_**camlann**_- I'm happy to hear that you're interested in Vrena's background. I'm still adding more to it, so the full story may not get out until this chapter or chapter three. I like to make my beginnings short and sweet, because everyone wants to get to the real plot.

_**katemary77**_- Vrena is the name of…well, Vrena, and Arvin is the name of her horse. It's a breed of Finnhorse, one of the oldest I could find. I also discovered today that looking up 'horses in 400-500 a.d.' doesn't really help.

_**Urhallucinating**_- thank you for reviewing! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Anyway, now on with the story!

* * *

**Chapter 2: **_**Vrena**_

_(revised)_

* * *

_(A/N: this is right after the knight's first battle with the Woads in the movie, when they're delivering the Bishop to the other side of the wall.)_

He noticed that it was a clear day for once. It was as if his and the other knight's moods –now positive after a superb defeat against the attacking Woads from earlier- had lifted the clouds and fog. It was the clearest any had seen the island in a while, though it still remained unpleasantly cold.

"Well, now that we're free men, I'm gonna drink 'till I can't piss straight!" Bors said to them as they made their way up the dirt road that would lead into town.

"You do that every night…" Gawain snickered.

"I never could piss straight. Too much of myself to handle. Down there."

An awkward silence, so silent, you could hear a horse neigh from a mile away. Or, at least Tristan could..._neighing_?

He turned his head, but only saw the horses and carriages. None far enough away to have made the noise. He turned his head back around. It was probably one of the horses on the other side of the wall.

He must have tuned out some of his friend's chattering while looking around, because now they were on the topic of Galahad.

"Galahad, do you still not know the Romans? They don't scratch their asses without holding a ceremony." Gawain joked to his comrade.

"Why don't ye just kill him, and then discharge yourself after?" Bors interrupted.

"I don't kill for pleasure. Unlike _some_." Galahad responded. Galahad, unlike Gawain, didn't enjoy endless killing as much. Gawain seemed to be quite use to it already. But after so many years, it's a shocking feat that the younger man had not yet succumbed to the thrill of killing.

"Well, you should try it someday; you might get a taste for it." Tristan said to Galahad. He never really spoke much, even to them-- so whenever he did, it seemed that everyone would turn and watch as if he was some kind of foreign artifact to be examined.

But Tristan didn't catch what Galahads retort was, for he had again been distracted by a distant cry of a horse. He could hear what direction it was coming from now…not too far east.

But whoever was riding out there wasn't his concern at the moment, though he would remember to keep an eye out. It could just be a lone rider or a soldier, but you never know.

Then he saw a familiar shape in the sky.

He did his customary whistle that would bring his closest colleague back to him. The hawk, whom he had never given a name, soared down to its owner and landed flawlessly on his left arm.

"Where you been, eh? Where you been?" He spoke to the animal and let it perch itself onto his shoulder. He and this bird went far back, nearly as long as his time spent as a knight. On days traveling when he is sent ahead of the group, it is always the hawk whom he sends up, scoping out danger. Never has it failed Tristan.

They had now made it to the gate, where work horses from the other side began to heave it open and revive its hinges, which released a loud moaning as it creaked open.

_Off to receive their discharge papers_, or so they hoped.

* * *

A hundred feet away.

A _hundred_ feet away from the wall, that was were Vrena's poor, tired and wounded horse had decided to fall on its side.

But poor Arvin was almost as badly beaten as she, so forcing him to keep running and support the both of them was too much to ask. The weakened stallion just couldn't ride anymore, and –thank the powers above- landed in a position as to not hurt Vrena any further. It was a fine thing that she had woken up only a few minutes after fainting; or her leg would probably have been trapped under Arvin, had she no time to yank herself away from the large beast.

However, falling in the first place had definitely done another number on her…a lot of numbers had been done on her within the last day, if that's even a way to state it.

After she had woken back up from her unconscious state, she remained stomach to the saddle, gripping the reigns with her left hand as Arvin trotted through the forest around all kinds of trees, thin and thick, limping all the way. They had ridden another few hours, she suspected, though it could have been longer.

_Arvin had been knocked over by one of the stronger townsfolk, been laughed at and spat on as they kicked and threw objects at the poor beast._ She remembered it too well, walking out of her house to see her horse being beaten.

"_What the hell are you doing to my horse?" She hollered as she darted out of the home that once belonged to her and her sister_…only her sister now that she had been chased away.

"_Shut your mouth, demon!" Shouted a man she knew, Mr. Barne. She remembered not understanding the meaning of his rudeness. Demon? Was this some kind of cruel prank? She had lived in the village of Tirth for four years, surely this was a joke?_

But, of course, in the end, it was as real as anything.

Though when she found out the reason for the madness that had overcome her village, the pain in her heart hurt more then the stinging and open wounds still on her body.

Her own _sister_.

Remembering her wounds, she struggled to pull herself up by her arms and guide herself over to the nearest tree. The injuries hurt much less then they did when she had first received them, though she knew if they were not treated soon, she would definitely die within the next day.

Grimacing, she remembered what her sister had taught her.

"_If you have an open wound, and you are out all alone with no medicines, you must make your own. Or die; either one will solve the problem._"

Her sister's voice ran through her head, making her grimace. She still couldn't believe it was her sister's fault for her pain. Or had she been framed? There had to be another explanation.

She quickly recalled the ingredients for a herbal solution that did well with large gashes, such as the one on her upper cheek and left leg. They were still open, even though the heavy bleeding had stopped. These hurt the most, and would take the longest to heal. The others… smaller, but still slightly open ones, and the small little scratches would be fine. Most of the blood had dried up now thanks to time.

In a recent turn of events she had decided it best to stay away from the wall; surely people would be suspicious of her condition and want to know the cause. A cause which she will, for now, keep to her self.

She noticed then that most of her needed ingredients were very few here. Some she could see from where she was sitting, and some only found further into the forest, near Woad territory. But she had no choice. She would die here, or probably die trying to save herself.

Focusing her energy to her feet, she gripped the freezing ground and tightened her cloak around her. She was lucky enough that Tirth's church founder, bishop Agustius, had pulled the townsfolk away for a "_celebration_" before killing her. She still choked in disbelief that someone would accuse her of such things. She even attended their services weekly, and was kind to all of them. It seemed so _wrong_.

But she had managed to travel behind the houses and make it into her home, get a few of her things without confrontation with her sister, help Arvin off the ground and set off at the fastest pace they could ride without collapsing. It was a miracle she could walk then when she could barely walk now. But then, she had been frantic and desperate to get away, running on her instinct to survive.

They had gotten far away now, and it had been a good twenty hours before the whole nightmare had begun.

She was lucky that there was no snow here, and looking at the sky, she could tell that there would be none soon. She was fairly warm in the clothes she was occupying, and was thankful for the time she had been blessed with to grab her heavy hooded cloak –one that had belonged to her deceased mother. She had been very fortunate.

'_Three down, three to go…_' she thought to herself as she scanned the woodland for the familiar plants, limping and feeling the after-burn of being whipped and beaten.

'_Four_' she counted as she found another one of the plants. There were two more missing, but she would have to pray for the best. She would pray hard, even though she didn't think her prayers would make it to anyone.

Vrena was not too fond of the Catholic or Christian god, their disciples, all their protestors…it just wasn't something that caught her interest; so she had decided to live with the fact that something is out there, and humanity just isn't worthy enough to find it. Even easier for her to believe right now.

_Perhaps that was what her sister had told the villagers?_

_That she was a god-hating nonbeliever who secretly wanted to burn their livestock and crops and homes, perhaps eat their children?_

She spat some saliva out of her mouth, which still tasted horribly of dried blood. Listening to the wind, she could hear the slight lapping of a nearby lake or river. She took a peek down at the small canteen she had found at the last minute, and remembered the small bowl stuffed into one of Arvin's satchel pockets. She would end up using a stick to mash and mix the herbs…

She tore the last plant she needed and shuffled toward the sound of the river. She was now beginning to feel dizzy, as if she were drunk. She would have to get this water and head back to Arvin quickly.

It took her only a few minutes to make it to the stream. It was small, but big enough for her to dunk the canteen in and fill it to the top. Eagerly and slowly she bent to her weak and scratched knees, nearly dunking her whole head in.

As she let the water lay back to its flat state, she tried to scan for her reflection. When she spotted it, she was horror-struck.

More damage had been done to her face then she thought. Once warm and bright; now streaked with mud from the wet roads they left behind.

Mud, and she saw now how bad the cut on her cheek was.

It reached from just below her eye to the side of her face, and there were many other cuts elsewhere, but they would heal in time.

She looked like she had been in the middle of a _war_.

It was a good thing she decided not to go to Hadrian's Wall, or their folk would surely be suspicious. She quickly placed the cork back into the canteen and walked a bit faster back to Arvin, following the landmarks she remembered, Limping worse then ever.

* * *

It was getting later into the day, and they had still not received their discharge papers.

Something about the Roman bishop they had helped deliver made Tristan curious. It just didn't seem roman-like to let them go so simply, after their stories and rumors had been spread in all directions for the past fifteen years. The '_heroes_' always get grand finales, and he suspected the battle with Merlin's Woads back near the forest was not their last.

The other knights besides him and Arthur, however, were joyful still. It seemed as if nothing would break their mood, and now they were all headed into the deeper parts of the small town, for Bors' wife to serve them beer and rum until they're dead drunk. Arthur had a grave look planted on his face.

He felt the way Tristan himself did, and knew that the end was not near just yet. Seeing his friends so happy made this even worse on the leader…he had promised them their freedom, and Rome was forcing him to delay it.

It was almost dark now, and when the night is young, men drink, women dance, and participate in a bundle of other festivities Tristan really had no interest in.

But of course, if he didn't join them, he would be bored stiff the rest of the night. Besides, he did enjoy throwing knives. This was also one of the only times he ever got to throw one without pulling it out of a dead body afterward.

He headed to where the many torches had been lit, and saw Lancelot gambling with a few other men, clearly loosing with the sour look on his face. Bors was holding one of his many children, Dagonett doing nothing in particular, and Gawain and Galahad tossing throwing knives at a dartboard. Arthur was nowhere in sight.

He took an apple from a near-by basket and bit into it, letting the sweet juices run down his throat for the first time in a long while. Traveling, they hardly ever got a chance to eat something that hadn't just been killed.

Picking up a knife, he threw it with his usual accuracy towards the board, the blade stabbing the end of Galahads. Him and Gawain both looked at it with wonder and turned to him.

"Tristan!" Gawain exclaimed.

"How did you _do_ that?" Galahad stared in disbelief.

"I aim for the middle…" He said as-a-matter-of-factly and took another bite from his apple. Looking back over to the gambling table, Lancelot now had a nice flock of women surrounding him from all sides.

Tristan never had time for a relationship, and still didn't, whether they be one-night stands or long months or years. None of them he was interested in the slightest bit, and he didn't mind. The company of a woman always felt too forced and awkward to him.

"Arthur!" A few men said cheerfully as the Roman commander finally appeared. His face was more sullen then before.

So he had been right.

* * *

She tried to stop her arm from shaking as she mashed the leaves and plants and mixed them with the stream water. The temperature hadn't seemed to change, a good thing. But now she was shaking for no reason...perhaps the stress was getting to her.

Her stomach growled hungrily, she would have to hunt for something later. But her bow –_another_ prized possession that belonged to her mother- was at the moment trapped under Arvin's heavy body. She would have enough of her medicine for them both.

She would need to help him up, which would prove to be a task and a half…since Arvin was a huge thing for his size, but a white beauty, and a smooth runner. She was lucky to have raised him since he was but a foal.

She finished mixing the herbs and began to spread a small amount onto her facial cuts, and more overtop the cheek gash, which began to sting and cause her to curse and whimper…then tried as hard as she could to bear it. Whatever was in those plants that were supposed to heal her was obviously working, which she was happy for.

She applied the mixture to the rest of her cuts, and at one point had trouble with her back. The gashes were long and thick and bloodied, hard for her to reach and seared with pain when she touched them. She was thankful when it was over, and she could put her clothes back on, not caring if they would stain. She had to keep warm.

She moved over to Arvin, who was still on his side, and looked almost dead. She felt guilty. Guilty for even thinking of leaving him there while _she_ wandered, guilty for having to share her pain that only _she_ deserved.

"C'mon Arve, you need to get up. _Please_?" She begged him, and stroked his white mane.

He snorted in reply, and swished his tail a little at her voice. He kicked one of his legs a bit, and shook his head, causing Vrena to jump back a bit. He rolled over and his neigh crackled a bit. She would have to lead him to the river later that night-- morning could not wait.

She had a better view now of his wounds. With his white hair, it was easy to tell where he was wounded. She removed the saddle, making him shake a bit, and then allowed her to pull it off the rest of the way. There was a long, deep scar on his neck; someone had probably whipped him before she came out to his rescue.

His back left knee, she noted, was very bloody and obviously damaged. He would probably be limping for a few weeks, months even. This was not good.

She smeared the medicine onto his several other wounds, in which he had so many that she almost ran out of her mixture. Such a bad shape they were both in. She was thirteen when she had gotten him, she recalled. So he was about ten years old now. She was twenty three, so it was close enough.

She would lead him to the river after a few minutes, then they would have to camp without a camp, for lack of better resources. She peered off into the distance from her safety on the hill and saw the tip of the wall through the trees. So close…but she wouldn't risk it.

* * *

Well, as it turns out, he had been right. As of morning, they would head back into Woad province, and pass through dangerous land to reach a Roman village before a supposable great collection Saxons killed them.

For him, who had seen it coming, this was no big deal. They would just have to wait for their discharge papers a bit longer. Not like they hadn't been doing that for _fifteen years_ now.

"**I'm a free man! I will choose my own fate**!" Bors shouted in his loud, booming voice.

Tristan just took another bite of his apple, uncaring of Bors' fury at the situation. They all should have seen it coming; they knew the Romans better then that.

"Yeah yeah, we're all going to die _someday_. If it's death by a Saxon hand that frightens you – stay home." He said loudly enough so only the men he was directing it to would hear.

"**Well if you're so eager to die, you can die right here**!" Galahad shouted at him. When exactly did he say that he was eager to die?

He knew that if he didn't get rest now, he would be this irritable the rest of the journey. Lancelot was now holding Galahad back from trying to murder him, and everyone was now in a horrible mood.

In the distance, he could see the clouds returning to haunt them.

Tomorrow would be a long day.

* * *

That was long…I just started writing and couldn't stop…but then, I know people prefer long chapters over short ones, and I really want to get to them running into Vrena.

Well guess what, you have to wait! Reviews are necessary for writers to have a healthy, joyful life!

:D

See all of you next chapter.


	3. Gone Hunting

_**Dazzler420**_- So true :3 I've been obsessed with him since the movie came out.

_**HGandRHrforever**_- Thank you! I'm glad you're hooked to the plot, because I need all the motivation I can get…been so busy lately.

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**Chapter 3:**_** Gone Hunting**_

_(revised)_

* * *

They left early that morning, just in time for the sun to rear its blinding head.

It was obvious that Lancelot and Arthur had shared an unpleasant exchange, because neither of them would even look at each other. Even on dreary and depressing days such as this one, they would have normally shared a few words. But neither knight spoke to the other, Arthur only to tell them all where they were headed.

They had ridden only for a few hours when Bors decided that he was hungry. In which they were all reminded at a bad time: They had forgotten to bring food. This didn't help, and only seemed to make the moods of the knights even bitterer.

Determining that it was best to quickly catch a meal then, they all decided on a short pit-stop so Dagonett could build a fire, and as usual, Tristan would catch the food.

But before any of them had a chance to move out to their selected tasks, a rustling noise broke out from behind a few clumped trees.

Naturally, they all froze still, knowing that the noise was not that of an animal. Much too loud to be.

* * *

It had been a miracle. If they existed, Vrena had without a doubt witnessed one with her own eyes.

_It had been late at night, and after taking Arvin for a drink at the close-by stream, she was attempting to snuggle into her cloak as deep as she could to shield herself from the incoming air. She could have easily gone to Hadrian's Wall and found a place to stay, but she still felt awkward seeing herself around people. Was this an effect of those horrible events? Would she eventually go mad and die?_

_As she had been thinking these things, a neigh came from Arvin, which made her jump with a little squeal. She scanned the area for who was hurting her horse, but saw no one...only Arvin on his feet, trying to move his broken, deformed leg._

"_Arve! Don't __**do**__ that-" she scolded as she forced her weak limbs off the ground. But she had been cut off by a repulsive half-snap half-pop, which came from Arvin's leg._

_Which…was now moving perfectly?_

_She watched in shock as he walked in a single circle, full use of his damaged leg, then laid himself back down amid the grass, as if nothing had ever happened._

_Vrena strode over to look at him, and studied what she had thought was broken and would never be of use…to see it looking normal again, with only a few scars where the real damage had been._

_It had been only dislodged._

_Simply out of place the whole time, and she had thought it was broken._

_She would have whacked him on the arse right there for making her think that he would never run strait again, but instead let out a cry of laughter and limped herself back over to her tree, and leaning against it, fell asleep._

It was now nearly afternoon. She took Arvin for a test-run near sunrise, and he rode perfectly, though she was still soaring with pain and discomfort, she decided that they would head back to her old home.

She knew that if she followed the road she had gotten off of just yesterday, she would make it within a few days, riding fast. But in her condition, she would need to take things a bit slower. Every gallop her steed took made her even sorer then ever, but she knew that her wounds needed to be healed professionally. _Not_ by the way of her third-rate herbal mixtures.

Though the medicine she had made yesterday and a good nights rest improved her mind and closed up her open wounds, there was still a chance of infection.

This meant that she would need more herbal remedies, such as drinks and rest in a good bed. She remembered her Aunt, the wife of the landowner named Marius, and how Vrena would watch over their little Alecto when the elders and adults would go have their fancy dinners. She knew that they would help her.

With that on her mind, she headed out steady with Arvin for about an hour or two, then began at a pace so fast that she didn't have time to think about her aching body, only the wind and the path. One thing she loved about her steed, his graceful and smooth racing.

But after a while, even that began to hurt, and sadly she had to halt him. She wished she could keep riding, but her large painful bruises were now rearing their ugly heads, and some of the soreness from her wounds was returning.

Since Arvin was not crushing it now, she decided it was time to use her bow and arrows. They were both hungry, maybe she could convince him to eat meat? Either way, she had to have _something_. The last meal she had consumed had been two days ago, just before being nearly beaten to death.

She yanked the bow from Arvin's large pouch and arrows from their holder. She only needed a few of them, since she had been taught archery as a young girl.

So she set out on her quest for food. However, she only managed to travel about ten feet before she paused dead in her tracks.

"What is the reason for your halt, Bors?" came a mans voice. Vrena could've sworn she'd just swallowed her tongue. She was scared stiff.

People. This wasn't good. She concealed herself behind three very large trees, and peered out from the side of one to look at the threat.

_Knights_. By their clothing and other attire, she could tell.

"Arthur, we should stop now and find somethin' to eat. I'm starving. And we didn't pack any food! this place is swarmin' with beasts." The man whose name was Bors spoke.

Arthur? _Arthur, Arthur_…it rang a bell.

_The knights of the round table!_

Bloody hell, it was them! She was definitely doomed now, for sure. She had heard stories of Arthur and his knights, and knew that Arthur himself was a very catholic man, unlike his knights who were all Sarmatian, thus Pagans. She feared _all_ of them.

But she forced herself to resist the urge to run. Any move she made would probably trigger them to attack her.

The roman man Arthur would surely see her wounds, force her to tell what act she performed to receive them, and send her back to Tirth…or kill her himself

_No_. She _refused_ to let that happen.

She would stay still until they left.

She couldn't see Arthur's face, but knew he was thinking of accepting the idea.

'_No! There is nothing here! Keep going!_' she thought to herself.

"We will be wasting valuable time, but I guess we have no choice. We will hunt here then, and set up camp further on without worrying about hunger."

Vrena gulped and felt like crying. That means until all of them left the area, she could not escape.

"Tristan, I'm sure you can catch us something in a few minutes?" another man- _who was very charming, she had to admit_- was probably the one and only Lancelot, spoke to another one of the knights.

The man Tristan he was clearly speaking with had just demounted his horse. He looked a lot more quiet and reserved then the other knights, she could tell. He had Eastern markings on his high cheek bones, and his nearly black eyes scanned the woods around him. At one point, she held her breath hoping that they wouldn't see her through the trees.

'_I'm invisible. I'm invisible. I'm not here._' She chanted in her head, hoping it would stray his eyes from her hiding spot.

He simply nodded to his commander and readied his bow.

_Heading her way_.

Vrena let out a small gasp as her leg weakly gave in from the strain of almost kneeling, and snapped a twig. A very _sharp_ twig, to specify. She felt it tear through her skirts and jab at her knee.

Followed by the sound of it echoing throughout the woodland.

She heard all of the knights freeze what they were doing, just as she had did. They were listening, she knew it. _She was going to __die__This couldn't be happening_

Vrena began to panic as she leaned over her sore leg...thanks to that fall, she felt the day-old would she thought had closed open again, and resisted screaming. A bit of blood began to seep through, then more, and as she silently lifted up her long skirts, she watched as blood dripped, staining the ground red. She leaned her head back onto the tree in amazement. _It could have opened on her and Arvin's ride, but why now_?

She sat her bow down and didn't even bother to move. She just rested against the tree and watched the fresh red blood flow.

How could she have been so careless? She should have at least ripped her dress and mended it. She thought the reason it hurt was merely because it was bruised! Not that it was about to _re-open__…_

She just sat there and awaited her death.

Vrena heard a pair of feet slowly come towards her. She would be killed once they saw her.

But…out of nowhere, she heard the sound of hooves.

And aloud neigh.

'_Oh, Arvin!_' She nearly cried. They'd kill him too.

He was galloping closer, maybe looking for his lost master. He would probably find her dead, and then the knights would kill him. What a wonderful day.

But as she saw Arvin come into view, she knew that the seven knights had seen him appear as well, coming right at them. But no arrows were flying, and no daggers tearing. Were they waiting for him to get closer?

But Arvin just dashed over to her, and she felt his hot breath shoot out of his nostrils. Then he proudly sat his arse right next to her and lay down.

Sometime she wished him dead, others she loved the hell out of him. Now was sort of a mix of both as she heard not just one pair, but three more pairs of feet heading over to look behind the tree.

* * *

Tristan watched as the horse pranced casually as if it didn't even see them. A beautiful breed, pure white in color. This was not an average wild horse, but as the steed turned, he caught glimpse of an ugly wound, still slightly blood stained. It had probably been done recently. The others also noted this. Arthur began to walk forward, followed by Lancelot, and once they were nearer to him, Tristan followed. They knew something was behind the tree, and they had to be cautious. He would go first.

He held out his arm silently to signal the others to stop approaching, that he would take care of this. Arthur and Lancelot stopped and allowed the scout to proceed.

* * *

Vrena could hear the other two pairs of feet cease moving and only one was heading closer now, no more then a few feet away from the tree, she could tell.

_They would find her._

_She would die._

_Arvin would die._

But before she could think of any more unpleasant things that could happen…

She fainted.

* * *

Oh oh oh, cliff hanger.

Sorry guys, couldn't resist stopping here. I'll update soon though.

Cari


	4. Meetings

_**Katemary77**_- Not all of how Vrena got the way she did has been revealed yet, so don't worry, you're probably not the only one confused! Her secrets will be revealed in later chapters, once she learns to trust the knights, mainly Tristan, though their relationship will start out…_rocky_...

_**(Anonymous) Dw**_- me + writing fan fiction equals evilfluffygoodness.

_**(anonymous) Me**_- Don't worry, I'll be uploading this document soon, I hope…

_**tenshikoneko03**_- Yes, yes, I know, that was a horrible cliffy. I originally was going to have them at least see Vrena, but decided to let your minds wander until I felt like updating, just for the hell of it :D

_**Verteri Lunum**_- Glad you like it. Thanks for reviewing :)

_**Lovebuggy-**_ XD Tristan the carpet man…

Alright, on with the story!

* * *

**Chapter 4: Meetings**

_(revised)_

* * *

_Vrena could hear the other two pairs of feet cease moving and only one was heading closer now, no more then a few feet away from the tree, she could tell._

_They would find her._

_She would die._

_Arvin would die._

_But before she could think of any more horrid things that could happen…_

_She fainted._

* * *

Tristan waited a few seconds, then began to move forward again. He made it to the side of the horse, and at first saw nothing; but then a hooded figure came into view. At first glance he thought the person was dead, but with the hood covering the face, he couldn't tell.

He looked again to the snowy-white horse, then back to the stranger. Watching the individual's body movements closely, he recognized a breathing pattern.

They were alive, but certainly not _awake._

But then he noticed it.

There was a small puddle of blood staining the grass, and he moved around the side of the tree to face the character. Getting a better look, he saw a fairly large wound on the person's leg, stretching almost from knee to foot, bleeding a great deal.

He now recognized the figure as a woman, because few men wore long dress skirts. The skirt and underskirt had been pulled up to the knee, so the woman obviously knew about her injury and had fainted.

Seeing the scrutinizing look on their expressionless scout sent Lancelot and Arthur a few steps forward, but Tristan again dismissed them with a glare. Arthur and Lancelot halted, and waited impatiently for Tristan's order to move forward. Naturally, he didn't make the decisions, but they knew Tristan well enough to leave him be.

The horse let out a sharp neigh and swished its long white tail. Tristan moved down to examine the strangers wound, which would need to be tended to quickly. Nothing Dagonett couldn't handle.

He signaled the other knights to come over.

* * *

The first thing Vrena noticed as she slowly came out of unconsciousness was that she was alive.

That or she was dead already, in the afterlife. Problem was she couldn't see anything. Her vision was blurred thanks to her recent black-out, and there was a sharp pain in her leg.

_open wound_, she remembered.

She was still too tired to move her limbs, so remained there without movement. She would wait for her senses to kick back in. She wondered how long she had been out…had Arthur and his knights left? Was she safe?

Her question was answered with a '_swish_' against her leg, which she recognized as a tail, likely belonging to Arvin. That was right…her horse had come out of nowhere, and she could have sworn the knights would have killed the lot of them…but she was still alive?

She heard a neigh, another sign she was alive. She could hear and feel, but the blurry vision remained. She could see blotches of greens and browns from the safety of her hood.

A noise came from in front of her, and she began to panic. Arvin was not in _front_ of her. She could sense his warmth. But there was also someone in front of her. Her natural panic began to kick in, and her vision came back.

First she looked down. Her wound was still bleeding. She had only been out for a split second. _Damn it all!_

Then she adjusted her eyes upward, only to be greeted by the one thing she had feared would be there.

One of the knights. But he wasn't focused on her, he was watching Arvin who had just finished letting out his neighs and tail swishes.

Thinking of no other way to react, she quickly looked up.

It was the knight from earlier! The serious one who's eyes penetrated the forest like ice. Vrena sucked in air, and saw that the man had swung his head around, sensing her movement…

But he was too slow, Vrena had already let loose her shriek of horror and kicked him square in the face, almost knocking him over, but he planted his hand to the earth and held himself up.

Only after that, Vrena realized what she had just done.

Not only had she kicked him with her bad leg and opened her would even more, she had just kicked a Sarmatian knight in the face.

But the fact that she had just settled her fate right there was a bit smaller than the fact that her leg was now gushing blood and throbbing painfully, and she could feel her muscles tighten as she flinched and grabbed it, letting out a cry of pain.

_If she __**didn't**__ die by a knights sword, she was about to die of blood loss._

But then, who knew which one came first. At the moment, a sword not belonging to the man she had booted was aimed at her head, and her leg was gushing blood like a waterfall. Why did everything have to happen to **her**?

The last thing she heard was a neigh from Arvin, just before she blacked out for the second time that day.

* * *

All seven of the men watched as the cloaked woman's body fell limp as it had been before, and then took a glance at Tristan, who was now pushing himself off the ground. One hand was on his face, just under his right eye where the female had –with wonderful accuracy, considering Tristan had no time or plan to dodge it- kicked him.

"_Bloody_ hell." Galahad said as he looked at Tristan, who was now applying pressure to a cut that had formed on his face where the heel of the boot had landed. But Tristan did not look upset or shocked, simply the way he always looked.

Though everyone knew he was a tad irritated…it wasn't every day you got kicked by a woman, unless it was a Woad...or you were Lancelot.

"_Hell_ I'm not sure of, but _bloody_ is correct." Tristan simply put, pointing to the girl.

No, not to the girl…_her leg_.

Arthur made his way over to the woman's side and looked at her wound, still bleeding. He knew that she needed help or she would die, but so would a whole village if they didn't make camp further on.

"She needs to be helped." Dagonett said urgently as he looked down at the blood staining the ground with worry. Though a fearless knight in battle, Dagonett was the kindest of them, and was also their skilled healer.

"Dag, we can' afford to waste time!" Bors warned his friend.

Then they all turned to Tristan again.

Of course, they relied on him for his excellent traveling knowledge and wisdom of pathways and the sort. No reason not to turn to the man who had just been kicked by an injured woman. No reason…

For one of the few times they remember ever seeing Tristan emotional, they all watched as he sighed, thinking out a plan. After looking over possible paths and time limits, he spoke.

"There is a different path that will lead us to the town faster. Though nothing has been heard from it in a long time, it is likely still Woad territory. We can camp here, ride fast tomorrow morning and still make it."

The other knights frowned at their only option, because deep down none of them wanted to just abandon the lady here to bleed to death, with her horse awaiting her to awaken. And they knew they would regret it if they didn't help her, even though she had attacked Tristan.

Arthur fought an inward battle with himself, then came up with a decision which he hoped he would not regret.

"We shall camp here, and then take the shorter route in the morning." Arthur said with a frown on his face. The other knights still had the worried looks on their faces from hours ago, and knew that they were risking danger by doing this.

But then, they had risked danger for fifteen years together. And they were still here.

With this one of the only good thoughts in their minds, the other five set up a makeshift camp while Dagonett shifted through his packed medicines, and Tristan brought over the injured lady from her spot behind the tree and quickly made a fire, letting the warmth sail over his chilled body.

"Just remove her cloak, that should be good. Besides, we haven't gotten to lay eyes on the face of our _staler of journeys_." Dagonett joked lightly as he gave his instruction to the scout.

"_Staller of journeys_? Is that what we shall name her, then?" Lancelot joined into the tease.

"I think _kicker of scouts_ works fine as well." Galahad smiled, enjoying the feeling of refreshing laughter after a day from hell. The others laughed as well, except Tristan, who stared irritably at Galahad as the scout undid the three buttons on the woman's hooded cloak and laid it out flat on the ground, placing her limp body on top of it.

Those within eyesight of the peculiar woman took the time to look at the large gash under her left eye that still had crusted blood around it, and many other cuts on her pale face; surrounding her face were long, wavy black tresses that were tinted with blood here and there…she had obviously not been treated for her injuries at all.

This made them feel a bit better about decided to help her. They knew from personal experience that injuries of such were painful, and she had probably suffered a great deal.

Tristan looked at the woman's neck and saw a bit of a blood stain from her shirt, which meant that more damage possibly lay underneath.

"There's more" Tristan spoke as he showed Dagonett the blood on the white collar of the undershirt.

Dagonett continued to look distressed, all humor gone from him.

"Take it all off, then."…

Tristan gave him an odd look.

"I'll do it." Lancelot willingly volunteered, his head shot up as if on queue.

"At your own risk, Lancelot," Galahad spoke as he unlatched his bow from his horse's saddle. He would obviously be left with hunting duties since Tristan was occupied.

"Or we'll be calling her kicker of _knights_ as well." Lancelot just smirked and cocked an eyebrow at this.

"Well, I'm working here. Someone has to do it." Dagonett pointed out as he looked at the others.

Silence.

"I've got a wife, wouldn't be to happy with me if she found out I was undressin' other lasses." Bors excused himself.

Lancelot simply sighed with disappointment.

"Be back in a few minutes." Galahad slipped away into the forest to hunt their dinner.

"I need to go find a stream, get some water for us." Gawain said and followed Galahad.

That left Tristan, Arthur, and the white horse that seemed to have followed them. There was a long pause as the three last men, excluding the horse, glanced at one another in silence.

Dagonett sighed.

Followed by more silence.

"...Do I need to flip a coin?"

* * *

I have to go to a softball clinic tomorrow for about five hours, so despite how quick I am at updating, I probably wont get to the next chapter until late tomorrow night or Monday, sorry guys :(

I'll try to update soon so you know who ends up undressing Vrena…


	5. A Peculiar Awakening for the Kicker of S...

Story. But first, the usual.

_**Tenshikoneko03:**_ :3 read this chapter and see who ended up taking her clothes off...AKA who won the coin toss XD…

_**Dw**_- Glad you think I kept the balance good. I was getting a bit worried about that in the end, how the mood just kept changing; but I guess it turned out pretty good :P

_**Lovebuggy**_- Psh, Lancey and his ladies…

_**Dazzler420**_- Can't live without 'em, don't want to anyways. XD…

_**Katemary77**_- Yea, those kinds of fics…I don't know. I get about halfway through the story thus far and they just start making it complicated to understand and really boring… . Almost like mine! XD…

_**HGandRHrforever**_- That's ok, it's alright to skip reviewing a chapter every now and then. I mean, if I start a story that had about thirty chapters, I'm not submitting a review for all of them. Who would?

Too tired to do any more. Onto story now.

* * *

**Chapter 5: A peculiar awakening for the kicker of scouts.**

_(revised)_

* * *

Vrena awoke with a jolt, then scolded herself, remembering her injuries. But oddly enough, not much pain shot through her body at all. Was she numb, then? The air was chilly, but not cold enough to freeze…then she felt an odd source of heat and recognized the smell of smoke.

'_Fire…There's a fire near me._'

Only tiny cracks and sparks were heard, the fire was not large. Small enough to cook food on, or heat up its occupants.

Beneath her, she no longer felt the hard cold ground, but her cloak. Her left hand gripped the fabric. She again noticed that no pain followed this movement.

She now had _two_ choices. She could open her eyes and look at her surroundings, or pay no heed and continue to rest. But curiosity always got the best of poor Vrena, and slowly she strained her eyes open.

"Well Tristan, your assassin had awakened from her slumber."

Vrena bolted up, eyes now wide. She still wasn't dead? _What the hell was going on today?_ This was torture…it would have been better if they had killed her while she knew not what was going on.

"If you're going to kill me, just do it now!" She hissed at them in a low tone, yet again surprised at how little pain she felt. Just a slight tearing feeling, but that was it.

"Seems we are not the only ones who jump to conclusions," A silent voice came from across the fire. She lifted her head to see none other then the man with the braided hair whom she had kicked the daylights out of, clutching his left cheek bone where a bruise was starting to show.

_Oh god, if these men were telling the truth about not wanting to spill her blood, surely he was having his own thoughts about the matter! _Vrena gulped and then removed the thin sheet of a blanket that had been covering her…to see bandages.

Lifting up her white baggy undershirt, she could see that gauze had been bound around her stomach and back where the sore cuts and bruises had been. _**That**_ was why she was so comfortable! Why didn't she think of it sooner to undress herself and…

…

* * *

"…who undressed me?"

All the knights were silent, except Lancelot, who allowed a devilish smile to cross his face. One glance in his direction made her panic, and look to the others.

"Please tell me it was not _him_."

"Well, don't get **too** excited," Lancelot said with a frown. He already had not been having a good day. He had been scolded once by Dagonett, who told him to stop trying to pitch the tent and roll it back up. If they had to make a quick getaway, they would need to take that with them. Now he was again rejected by a woman who wanted nothing to do with him.

"We know better then to let Lancelot get close to a pretty lady who needs 'er clothes removed, you have nothin' to fear." Bors said, stuffing a large chunk of cooked meat into his mouth.

* * *

This made Vrena feel reassured, but she was still wary of who had removed her clothing. Even though it was of good intention, she at least wanted to know who had performed the act.

It was dark now, and it had been only early afternoon she had last fainted. She had been unconscious for a good while. That must have given time for whatever they had put on her wounds to take effect, healing her soreness. Taking another look, she saw that her badly injured leg was being kept strait by a long piece of wood tied there with some cloth.

"If you really want to know, it was sir Tristan who removed your clothing, Dagonett who put healing oils on your injuries and bound them with cloth, and me who gave you the blanket." Galahad spoke up from his spot on the ground, far to the left of her.

"Thank you."

"No problem. Any woman would be scared if she were unconscious within three miles of Lancelot." Galahad joked. This knight Vrena could deal with, but the others had yet to prove commendable of her trust.

"So you're…not going to _kill _me? _Torture_ me? Nothing?" Vrena wanted a guarantee, to be on the safe side. She had heard tales of the Knights of the Round Table…some not so delightful.

The knights well-knew the cautious look in her eyes. She clearly didn't trust them. Perhaps she wanted to, but that was a different story.

"We will do none of the sort, but…" Arthur answered, and then took a long pause.

* * *

"Sir Agustius, sir Agustius!" approached a child's voice as he scampered into the large stone house of the towns' owner and church priest.

The man jumped as if he had just seen his god in front of him, and turned to see the youngster who had just sprung through his living area like the devil was chasing him.

"What is it that frightens you, child?" He spoke calmly. "You can tell the lord anything."

"Me and- me and my friend-" The child spoke in harsh breaths, evidence he had run quickly to get there.

"We were racing along the woods and saw smoke from a fire. We saw-" The child stopped as if someone had grabbed his tongue.

"Do not fear to speak, young one."

"W-we were hiding behind a tree and saw it!"

"Saw _what_?"

"The one from two days ago, unconscious and taken by knights! The devil's child sir! We ran all the way back to warn you." The young lad fell to his knees in exhaustion.

A young woman with short raven-black hair, who had been seeking counsel with the priest at the time, looked curiously at the situation. Realization hit her as she glanced towards the man who claimed to be their vassal to the lord. No matter what kind of connection he may have, she knew what she had to do.

"She must be brought to justice and be made known the good fathers light!" She said delightedly. Her plans were working perfectly. If they could even be called _plans_…more like _schemes_.

Agustius nodded in agreement.

"Go alert the town folk, and send out my regiment. We may not be large in numbers, but I assure you the Roman knights who have taken her will gladly agree to offer her over to the lord-"

"Sir Agustius? I will go help spread the word of the matter and speak with you later." The woman said as she sprung from her chair and headed towards the stables. She was eager to help them track her sister, and then everything would be perfect.

* * *

Vrena knew exactly what was going on in Arthur's head. He wanted to know how she got into her current state. They all were probably curious on the matter, since it was rare to see a stranger wandering the forest with death written all over them.

Personally, though she still didn't trust them fully, she decided to go with her gut instinct and at least queue them in on the situations she faced.

"You want to know how I got this way." She cut Arthur off, generously taking the few scraps of meat on a stick that the one they called Bors had offered her. She thanked him and bit a chunk off. She could almost feel the warmth hit her stomach just as much as she could sense the knights' eyes on her. They plainly had not expected her to speak so freely about it.

"You do not have to share it, if it is hostile to your will." Their leader added. Why had she ever been afraid of this man? Maybe…maybe some Romans were as nice as him. She had gotten the uncommon opportunity to meet him. And it was only reasonable after what they had done for her.

Vrena let out a weak cackle.

"You saved me from my death, it is the least I could do."

Vrena took a glance over at Tristan, the Sarmatian knight whose cheek bone she had lodged the heel of her hard boot into. A pang of guilt struck her as she looked at the bruise and cut next to one of his war markings. From the way he had focused his attention to the ground and stared at the fire like it was the most mesmerizing thing in the world, he did not wish to look at her.

Now that she had seen and taken in each knight's actions and such, she concluded as follows:

Lancelot is definitely the woman-ravisher the stories say, stay distant from him.

Gawain's hair is as long as hers. He is ok.

Galahad doesn't seem to like it when things don't go his way, but his sense of humor makes up for it.

Arthur is the only kind Roman in existence.

Bors is fond of food.

Dagonett is wonderful with medicines and treating the wounded, she learned from self experience.

Tristan…Tristan was probably the only one who didn't trust her, and was probably fuming about his latest scar and bruise; probably also not happy with the fact he had earned them from an unarmed woman who wasn't even in condition to kick.

_Incredible_. She had only been awake and speaking with them for a small amount of time, and already she knew them well enough to perhaps trust them.

Vrena looked up to examine the night sky. There were no stars, and hardly a moon. But when she caught glimpse of its white shadow from behind a cloud, she knew that it wasn't too late into the night, and that they were facing the direction that would lead one to Tirth. She shuddered.

This wasn't good. All thoughts of telling stories to the knights vanished as fear overcame her again.

"How far are we from the nearest town?" The woman shot Arthur a look of panic. Arthur, not knowing which fraction of the woods they were in, turned to Tristan.

For the first time since she was hidden behind the tree, the man's mysterious brown-black orbs gazed into hers.

"The closest town is to the west, one of the only Roman areas around this part of Briton." He answered her question. But this did not comfort her, no it didn't at all.

_**Tirth**_ was one of the only Roman Catholic provinces in Briton.

"How close?"

"A few miles."

Vrena's eyes widened in shock. They were _**that**_ close to Tirth?

Her heart started to beat quickly as if she had been running, and she planted her hand and good foot to the ground hard, clamped her other hand onto Bors' shoulder, and hauled herself up off the ground with speed not recommended for people in her condition.

"Where are you going?" Arthur questioned as he stood up, along with a few of the other knights who would plan to support her if she fell, the others stood from disbelief. Seeing her bolt up in such way with her injuries was like watching someone's dieing grandparent decide to take a jog around a field.

"Far, far away from here," Vrena said hurriedly. "Where is Arvin?"

Receiving inquisitive looks from the men, she rephrased her last words.

"My _horse_?"

She spun her head in all directions. Quickly spotting her steed, lying close to a tree just behind Tristan, she rushed through the circle and around the fire. Ignoring the knight's confusion.

Then she froze.

Various noises of breaking twigs and crunching leaves filled their ears as figures on horses appeared in the distance.

Seeing her move toward him, Arvin instinctively stood.

Then Vrena pulled one of her most unwise stunts that day.

Taking her good leg, she hitched it onto where the wounded one would originally be placed, and hauled herself up with that limb, grabbing the white mare's reigns with her clammy hands. She had to get out now, or she would be killed for sure.

Closing her eyes and saying a silent prayer that this would not hurt as much as she thought it would, she nearly threw herself onto her horse, astoundingly managing to place her bad leg over to the other side; sitting herself comfortably onto the saddle.

She was happy they had decided to re-dress her after bandaging her, or this might have been a worse problem then it already was.

The noises of moving underbrush came closer and closer. Now it had morphed into the sound of hooves; Lancelot gripped the handles of his twin blades that were resting in their scabbards on his back, and Tristan steadied his bow at his side.

But no weapons that the knights had on them mattered in this battle. This was her fight, and she would not let them have anything to do with it.

If she escaped now, Tirth's soldiers would think --_that_, or be _petrified_- of Arthur and his knights.

"Put your weapons down!" Vrena said as quietly as she could to the knights. If anything, she knew this was what she owed them. She saw Lancelot study her and mouth a '_why?_', but Arthur, smart enough to know already, grabbed Tristan's bow and forced it down, subsequently Lancelot released the handles of his blades.

Just in time for a man on horseback to come out of the forest, sword wielded at her. She closed her eyes and sighed. It was no use anymore. Running was not working; she would have to acknowledge her fate.

"Stay where you are and don't move!" The man shouted as around thirty others surrounded the campsite.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

This isn't as big a cliffy as the last chapter, be happy.

I'm a tad disappointed with this though. I feel like I rushed through it, and that there were lots of things I could have made better had I thought to slow myself down.

I'm sorry guys, I'm a terrible writer.

III Cari III


	6. Experiences and Rescues

Thanks again to all the people who reviewed for the last chapter! I'm really surprised at how many reviews I've been getting!

_**Calliann-**_ Thanks :D I'm glad you're enjoying it, and I try to update every one to two days…this story has lots more chapters to go .

_**Sarah-**_ Dag, I think, is the only…normal knight. O.o

_**katemary77-**_ Well, as long as you guys think I'm doing a good job, I guess I can live with that; but whenever you see me mess something up, DO NOW hesitate to tell me that I'm stupid.

_**Dw-**_ Some of Vrena's story will be told in this chapter, though it won't be her who tells it.

_**Op-**_ Don't worry, I will o.o

_**Tenshikoneko03-**_ don't worry, Tirth isn't the village the knights are going to protect. But honestly…I watched the movie THREE times in one day, and read two versions of the script, and STILL can't find out what Marius' village is called

_**Vamsi-**_ Thanks :D I'm glad you like my style as well as the story.

_**Mandamirra10-**_ I tried hard to get their personalities right without making them too OC, which is hard for any writer. Thanks :D

_**Lovebuggy-**_ Yea, made me feel a bit better :D

_**Peanutbutterme-**_ Ah, sorry about that error! I'll go back and fix it right away. I often get confused with Galahad and Gareth sometimes, Gareth being Gawain's brother.

Story story!

* * *

**Chapter 6: Experiences and Rescues**

_(revised)_

* * *

A small raven-haired child paraded around the forest with her twin sibling, picking up what beautiful flowers they could find and bundling them into one large bouquet, tying the stems together with numerous colors of string. 

They were about to amble farther out, but were called back.

"Vrena, Vejha, come back here!" The motherly figure called in their native tongue. (_A/N: Vejha is pronounced 'vae-sha'_) It was time for them to cease their play time and begin their archery lessons.

Vejha groaned at the woman, but Vrena became excited and frivolous. She knew that her sister preferred the sword over the bow, but Vrena liked otherwise. Besides, the Blue Ghost warriors told them that the sword was dangerous for a child to learn at an early age such as theirs; they would have to wait until they were old enough to wield one without hurting themselves.

They scampered up to their watcher from the bottom of the hill were they had ventured. But as they had managed to retreat safely up half the hill, they could hear noises.

Loud shouts and yells filled the air from the other side of the hill, and they watched as their designated protector turned to see what was going on.

The lady was devastated at what she saw when she had turned her head.

_Roman soldiers_, nearly a _h__undred _of them, she was not sure- sprung out of the woods into the unprepared Woad village. _A surprise attack_.

She watched as the children's mother, armed with a bow, ran up to the top of the hill; she grabbed her friends hands in worry, and from behind watched as shouts and cries emerged from homes and swords clashed with swords.

"Please Naeda, I **beg** you. Do _not_ fight this battle. I only ask you one favor. Take my children and ride, Naeda; faster then you have _ever_ ridden while in battle. Travel to the town of Marius, the towns' leader is my half sister. Tell her that I have died in battle and that I can trust no one with my children except her."

With that said, a large grey steed along with a small, pure-white foal was led up the hill by a younger woman, also ready for battle.

"Take my horse and Vrena's foal as well. It would break her heart if he was lost here." The mother of the two children then looked down at the blood now beginning to rest on the earth, and the many bodies of her dead friends and kin who lay with bleeding wounds.

Naeda looked to her friend, not believing that this was her end, the end of their tribe. Two Roman arrows flew past their heads, barely missing them. One landed on a tree, the other hit the woman who had brought up the horses- piercing right through her skill. Naeda gave her friend a quick hug and took the horses reigns.

"Your children will be safe, that I can promise you."

Before leaving, they both looked down on the village again, enraged by what they saw.

Some of the knights -whom they knew had been pulled from Sarmatia, the only place the Roman's had power over because of Sarmatia's small, low populated villages- were so young, no more then in their early teens.

"Filthy Romans think they can even get _children_ to battle for them. Oh how I wish them all dead by their own swords. May you kill many, dear friend." Naeda hissed and watched as her friend ran down to her death, the traditional Woad screams and hollers roaring from her throat as she clashed with a few Roman soldiers, killing as many as she could.

Holding back tears, Naeda ran down the other side of the hill until she was with her friends children. Looking at their young faces, she imagined them being heaved away by Roman officers at that age, which would be coming soon, for they were both no older then eleven. This sent a wave of fury through her, as she ordered young Vrena to mount her half-grown steed…she was proud of how well the girl knew how to ride. She then pulled Vejha up with her on the grey beast.

She would keep her promise to Saelia, no matter what.

These children would be safe away from death by sunrise, for she would refuse to stop riding until then.

* * *

Arthur remembered distinctly the time as a child, when he had learned to hate Woads, besides when his mother had been killed by them. 

It was one of their first missions as knights in training, and he –with the other Knights of the Round Table, though none of them knew it was to be then- awaited their orders to charge on an unprotected Woad village.

An earlier while before that, nearly a fourth of their men had been killed by wandering Woads, and then just _ran off_ into the woods. It sickened him at how they thought they could act upon that.

But even though that was evident, he knew that **this** was not right. His gut was telling him that a fight was only fair if all men on both sides were ready for battle. Never the less, they attacked the village.

Glancing up top the top of a nearby hill, he saw three women overlooking the battle, one wielding a weapon and the other taking a large steed and a white foal from her, while one waited for one of them.

He pulled his bow out from under his arm and picked an arrow from its carrier; aiming it for them, then aiming a bit higher as he had been taught. Another boy, whose name he had learned was Tristan, did the same, but with more skill then him. Arthur's bowing proficiency was not as defined.

Both released their arrows. His, of course, missed one of their heads by a few inches, but Tristan's pierced one Woads head dead-on.

"You get the hang of it." Tristan said as he ran off, now unsheathing his Sarmatian sword, ready to find more kill.

Arthur only killed a few others that day.

* * *

The pain in Vrena's leg sprang up when one of Tirth's men threatened her to get off her horse before he threw her off. Such _nice_ men. 

Demounting herself from Arvin, she tried to place her good foot on the ground first, but _miserably_ failed. She knew Dagonett was getting a bit livid with them roughing her around after he worked hard to patch her up.

All the knights then understood her plan as clear as day. She was only trying to keep them out of trouble with the Romans, in thanks for them letting her live.

"We must thank you men for capturing this fugitive before she could escape. If you desire it so, you may come and witness the execution. Agustius would not mind guests who are good to their land." The regiment leader spoke to the Knights of the Round Table. Little did he know, most of them had different views on the matter.

But an execution? _Fugitive_? This girl seemed nothing of the sort. She had just turned herself over in order to prevent them from being accused of helping her. And she obviously posed no hazard.

Each individual knight had been thinking about this in their own way, but Tristan and Arthur took their thoughts a step further.

Perhaps she was just another woman accused of being Woad or an enemy to the state, something that happens often here in Briton **and** Rome. Whatever the lady had did most likely was a mistake taken by the Church the wrong way.

If she had been guilty of whatever act she had committed, it would be obvious to them by now.

"We'd be glad to. May all my knights be invited?" Arthur replied to Tirth's regiment leader. The man nodded.

"Take her away, men. When we get back, tell Agustius that god has sent us victory!" He ordered to two of his foot soldiers.

* * *

Vrena didn't even bother to escape when two of the strong, idiotic men came over and grabbed her by each arm roughly, hitting her bruises. She let out a small whimper at the new pain. 

"Oh stop your complaining wench, that _didn't_ hurt." One of them spat at her.

She resisted growling at them. They had obviously not witnessed her beating two days before.

Taking one last glance at the knights, she gave them a serious look. She didn't know what they were planning when Arthur accepted the invitation to witness her burning…or _hanging_…or _whatever_ Agustius had in store for her. She gave them a look that sent them a warning.

'_Don't try and help, it's for your best!_' she thought, hoping they would understand. Of **course** they won't, Vrena, you idiot!

'_They can't hear you!_' she shouted to herself, and flinched again when the Tirth soldiers squeezed her arms harder, almost crushing them.

"Do you have to squeeze so damn hard? I'm not going anywhere, for Christ _sake_!" She yelled at them, hoping they would at least loosen their grip a bit. But instead of loosening, they just held harder.

"And give you a chance to cast dark magic on us, you bloody witch? I think **not.**" The other soldier who had been gripping her other arm retorted.

"Cast dark Magic? I can barely light a _candle_, and you expect that I can cast _magic_?" She laughed, despite all the pain of being pushed forward. She was pleased also, when she heard a snort of laughter come from Lancelot and Galahad who were not far behind, but quickly cleared their throats and stat up strait on their steeds when a few Tirth soldiers turned to glare at them.

"Oh, do not worry little lady, your sister had informed us _all_ about you. She told us once that she caught you reading _occult scriptures_." Said the Regiment leader, as he rode up along side them.

Vrena would have laughed if she wasn't more shocked. _Her sister really had accused her of all these things._

"_Hah_. I've only picked up a book or scripture about once in my life! And if I did happen to get my hands on that sort of material, it was probably something I borrowed from _her_. Whatever reason the townsmen have to fear me, I would like to know what the evidence is!" Vrena argued, limping her way towards the direction of Tirth, men from the regiment in front and behind her like she was a threat.

"Your sister informed our priest Agustius that you were plotting to rid him off and take charge of the town, and that was why you forced her to move here with you. She also told us that you have a habit of lying, so don't bother to fib your way out of this. You have been charged of heresy and murder." A man from behind them explained.

"_Heresy_ and _murder_? No act of heresy have I yet committed, and I have not murdered a single soul!" She quarreled furiously.

"It is not our place to argue, now please silence yourself or **we** will do it for you."

Vrena did as she was told for once and shut her mouth.

They were almost to Tirth.

* * *

After listening to the woman's exchange with the roman soldier, they now knew almost everything **but** her name. 

Tristan looked onward as they traveled with the regiment of soldiers towards Tirth. He then looked to the dark sky after hearing the screech of a hawk, and let a whistle emerge from his lips. A few of the Romans jumped as the bird, full from hunting, flew over their heads and landed on its masters fore arm.

Looking at his friend, an idea came to him. He wouldn't be able to fully plan it out until their lady friend was locked up before the decision on her death was decided…a common tradition with Romans to make things longer then they needed to be.

Looking at the size of the fleet that had cornered them, he knew that he could have _easily_ taken out all of them on his own, and they could have run off to their originally destined town with no one knowing it was them.

That would have been the easy way, but Arthur, being a mix of roman **AND** rational, decided for them to take the long way. They all knew that if Arthur's plan worked, they could move on to the town of Marius knowing that they had saved a life that night.

None of them were that tired, anyway.

* * *

Nothing much else happened after Vrena had been shut up by her captors. Though she was awed at how the knight Tristan could command a hawk. She imagined it must have taken time for them to become close. The only animal she had ever bonded with was Arvin…however her steed was now being led by Lancelot. But then, better him then one of these dirty _Romans_. No offense to Arthur. 

She let out a long breath as Tirth came into view, and she could see small fires and torches lighting up the vicinity. She saw a few people walking around, and one man looked at them as they came closer.

"They're back! They've returned with the _witch_!" He yelled and as new commotion stirred inside the town. Murmuring and talking could be heard now.

"Lock her up in one of the cells until Agustius gives us orders. Guard her and make sure she does not try to get out." A female's voice came from her left. She spun her head to the side to see none other then her sister.

"It seems I was too late to join the men and help detain you. It would have made my day." Vejha spoke triumphantly.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the knights pretending to be interested in the execution, and the only knight who would have remained emotionless seemed to be missing. But they headed off with the other soldiers of Tirth to get their spot at the viewing, despite the absence.

Unless this absence was planned.

Vrena looked around, now ignoring her sister's presence, searching for the missing Tristan, who was still nowhere to be seen. The two soldiers from earlier lead her in a different direction from the others who were heading to the fields. She was going to the cells. _Wonderful_.

She took note that as she was dragged in to the stone-like small fortress with about six barred cells, the men had forgotten to shut the door after walking out. This would only prove helpful, of course, if she hadn't been locked in a cell with no chance of escaping.

The idiots they were, she could easily reach her arm through the bars and grab the keys, if her wrists not been bound with thick ropes. Along with her feet. They would probably leave her like that, too. She would most likely be burned.

A pain in her chest formed as she knew her life would come to an end, and a tear traced down her cheek.

* * *

Tristan shifted off his horse and watched the two soldiers leave the cells. He had informed Arthur quickly to let him take care of the matter, and the Roman commander put his trust in him. The soldiers had not noticed his disappearance. 

"You know what to do, ay? _Don't you?_" He whispered to his Hawk, and then let it sail into the direction of the cell guards. The woman's white horse was about to neigh loudly; Tristan quickly reached to pet its neck and shush it up.

And then he waited.

* * *

:D I'd like to thank you guys again for all the reviews on the last chapter. I was really happy, and decided to give you this chapter early as a reward! I've been working on it all day. :D 

III Cari III


	7. Similar Directions

**_Lin-_** I'm glad you're enjoying it :D

**_Sarah-_** Glad you liked chapter five :P Sorry I didn't get to your review sooner.

**_HGandRHrforever-_** :D You're reviews always make me feel better! Glad you liked it. Tristan's plan is quite simple, really. Read on :P

**_Calliann-_** Of course, everything Tristan comes up with is perfect :P Thanks for the review!

**_katemary77_**- I'm amazed at how many people like the way this story is going .

**_tenshikoneko03_**- Maybe not this chapter, but a few chapters from now Vrena might get a go at her :P If you want it to be one of the knights or something, feel free to suggest ideas.

**_Sarah-_** The reason Vrena's sister hates her will come later on.

**_Dw-_** Thanks :D

**_Noemy009-_** Tristan always has a plan :P

**_Etraya-_** I'm glad you like it. I'm trying hard to make it as good as possible.

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**Chapter 7- Similar Directions**

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Vrena looked at her surroundings. There was a stone wall, another stone wall, wow…_three_ stone walls. Possibly the most enthralling thing she had ever laid her weary eyes upon. So colorful, so…_creative_, so…

"Hawk!" one of the guards shouted, interrupting her artistic sarcasm.

Vrena spun around and gripped her hands onto the bars of her cell, focusing her eyes towards the men keeping her under surveillance, to see one swatting at a large dark bird that hat swooped above his head like a bat.

_Tristan's hawk_! Vrena recognized the trained animal as it soared in through the open door and perched itself on an disused chair across from her,but they were still separated by the long iron bars. Then she saw something gleam in the moonlight against its right wing…She tried to get a closer look, but a feather was blocking the object.

"Calm yourself, Finsten. 'Tis only a bird, and nothing more. Let it keep the demon company." The other guardsneered.

She watched, baffled as the bird tossed itself off the chair gracefully, landing softly on the cold ground without a sound. It walked on its small feet over to her, and was small enough to fit through the space in betweentwo bars. Flapping its wings once, the item Vrena could not distinguish landed onto the floor with a soft clink, and the bird gallantly went back through the bars with its neck held high, proud with accomplishing its job.

It flapped its wings hard and fast, taking flight, again stopping over top the guards heads; causing them to jump and shoo it away as it flew off into the night.

Vrena looked down to the floorat a small, yet fairly large blade, handle tied to a string. The string was looped to fit around the wing, so this act had been planned out.

She silently thanked Tristan, and then silently cursed him. Did he realize how much she owed him **now**? She still had not apologized for kicking him in the head, now he had just helped her break away from her _death_!

But this was no time to be contemplating things.

Vrena turned around and sat herself down onto the floor, picking up the knife, her hands still tied around her back. Then she swung herself around and faced the other direction, as to hide her hands from the guards view, should they look in.

She had never done anything like this before, so she had to fumble around with the knife in different positions before she got one that would easily allow her to divide the rope with it.

Then she started her work. She felt relieved with each and every small string she felt snap under the sharp blade.

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* * *

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Arthur watched as some of the townsfolk fastened a noose to a branch on a nearby tree. They were _all_ serious about executing this innocent woman, which made him disgusted.

He knew that his knights were thinking the same thing as they watched the preparations. The people of the small village, which turned out to be quite many compared to his original predictions, began to gather around, awaiting the trial.

"Why they call this a _trial_, I'll be damned if I knew." Lancelot said from his spot next to Arthur, petting his black horse as it waited impatiently for them to stop stalling and get a move on. If Tristan accomplished whatever he had planned, he had better hurry up. People were getting anxious.

"It must be one o' those complicated Roman words for '_condemnation_'." Bors chimed in as he took a long swig of wine that an individual had passed out.

"The poor lass. Tristan better hurry it up. What is he up to, anyways?" Gawain asked Arthur quietly as one of Tirth's soldiers passed them by.

"I have no idea." Arthur let out in one breath. Lancelot was about to say something, but they all dismissed the conversation as the girl from earlier, whom they had almost mistook for their kicker of scouts -_with shorter hair_- walked by, ignoring them completely.

They all looked up as a loud screech filled the air above, and Tristan's hawk soared down, awaiting one of them to stretch out their arm for it to land itself on. Lancelot reluctantly took the honors and outstretched his upper limb, allowing the hawk to float down and sink its talons into his shirt.

"Ay, don't **rip** it!" He scolded the bird.

Their eyes were then drawn towarda man in luscious green robes with gold embroidery walking out of a home, followed by the woman from earlier and two Roman soldiers.

"That must be Agustius." Arthur noted out loud as the man, no later in his years then forty- strolled by with a pleased look on his face.

"You two, go fetch the girl from her confinements and bring her to the field. The execution will be at present!" He cheered. The two soldiers walked off into the direction of the cells.

The six men mounted their horses, awaiting whatever signal Tristan would give them.

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* * *

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Vrena had finally managed to break herself free of the roped bindings and worked quickly on the ones that bound her feet. If she was caught doing this, it would surely be her end. There would be no public execution. The guards would whip out their polished swords and dirty them with her blood, slice her head clear off her shoulders for all she knew.

But she worked quick and quietly. The ropes were off in a few seconds, and she stood up, brushed off her skirts, and watched the guards hesitantly as she reached out her arm for the keys.

They jangled a bit as she removed them from the nail that held them to the wall, but the guards were dumb and deaf, so it didn't matter all that much.

Like a ghost she slid the key into the hole, turned it to the right, and the cell chamber echoed with a loud click. She would have exited, but held herself back, seeing it not a wise thing to do. From her spot behind the bars she could see that the door on the cell next to her was wide open, which set her mind open for possibilities.

_Flawless_.

Without opening or locking her door, she reached her arm out and set the keys back in their rightful place.

"Excuse me! Hello?" She called for the guards attention. They just ignored her and remained at their posts.

"Please! I could really use some help right now!" She tried to sound desperate and scared. The stage was not her profession, however. But her heart filled with hope as they turned to steal a look.

"Please, help! There's a rat! It's _huge_! Hiding under this pile of hay!" she said and gestured towards the pile of hay that was supposedly there for a prisoner's bedding.

"So, what of it?" one of them laughed at her. Curse these uncaring Romans.

"It's _vile_ and _disgusting_, and if you do not come here and rid of it right this instant, I will cast spells on your families!" She said as-a-matter-of-factly, silently praying that this would work. If they just blew her comments off, that would be bad. She would have to get physical with the matter, which meant breaking out herself and fighting them dead on.

Her having Woad blood, that wouldn't be too hard if they hadn't been armed.

But her plan worked, and the two frightened men scurried into the room and stood in front of the bars, while they both fumbled for the keys at the same time.

Wrong move.

While they were bunched up and paying no attention to her, she quickly with all the strength she could muster swung the long barred door open, and moved quickly as to not give them time to react. The door caught both the men by surprise, knocking them into the cell next to hers as she had planned.

Swinging her door back as speedy as possible, she closed theirs and slammed it locked, then limped quickly out of the cell chamber before their shouts could be heard.

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* * *

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Tristan watched as the lady limped painfully out of the stone-built chamber and spun her head in all directions; her eyes landed on her horse that Tristan had deliberately moved out from behind their hiding place, behind one of the homes. She limped forward silently cursing as her leg began to pain her again.

When she made it to her horse, she jumped back a bit at his hidden figure, but then recognized it and took a breath of relief.

"Where are your other friends?" She asked him as he helped her onto her large steed.

"They will catch up later, but we must ride." Tristan said as he grabbed the reigns of her horse and pulled it back over behind the home just as two guards came into view, heading to the cells, most likely going in there for her.

"How will they know?" She whispered.

Tristan let silence answer her question as he mounted his horse and kicked it lightly with his boot, signaling it to run hard into the woodland. He turned his head to see her do the same, and they dangerously headed out into the open. But luck was on their side. _No one_ was wandering around town because they were all waiting for **her** to be executed on the other side. Vrena was yet again at awe with the silent man she had only booted in the face just hours ago.

They made it into the safety of the woods and let themselves be hidden in the thick trees.

She followed just behind him as he led the way back out to their original path, near where they had set up camp. They slowed down their pace until they were only moving at a steady trot.

"Where exactly were you headed before kicking me and collapsing of shock?" He asked in a low tone, seeing no other way to state it.

He looked back at her to see that shehad beenfastening on her cape that he had left on top her horses saddle. She threw up the black hood over her head and let it drape around her. No one would know who she was unless she took it off. A smart girl.

When she lifted her head to answer his question, he saw a pained look in her face.

"I…I'm sorry about that. I was afraid and didn't"-

"It is nothing compared to other damages I have received, lady. Think nothing of it."

"B-but"-

"Where were you headed?" He cut her off. Depending on how she answered would tell him which direction to send her off in. Unfortunately for Tristan, he was not well educated on the subject of a woman's feelings, unlike the other knights who had their fair share of it. This was truthfully one of the only times he had conversed with a lady for a long time and counting.

"Do not interrupt me when I am trying to apologize." She corrected him in an almost motherly tone.

"I think right now your safety matters more then any apology you may think I require." He retorted. Evidently he was new to these topics. He turned around again, but saw there was no need to as she sped up her horse to ride next to him.

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* * *

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Vrena steadied her horse next to his and shrunk back when he looked at her. She hated to admit it, but she was _afraid_ of this man. He was one of Arthur's knights who had killed perhaps thousands in his time. His dark eyes looked at her and almost forced the answer from her mouth.

"Before I ran into you and the other knights, I was headed towards the town of Marius where my mother's half-sister resides as the wife of Marius. I knew them quite well before I decided to try living somewhere else. It is the only place now where I would be welcomed with open arms...as long as Marius **never** finds out about this incident." She explained, her saddened tone complimenting her worried face.

Tristan shot her a strange look.

"What?" She asked as she gave him a look back.

"Nothing, that just changes my plan a little." He said as he scanned the empty forest.

"I need to thank you for that, too."

"You do not need to thank me for anything."

"You indeed merit it, why do you not accept?"

"Because I do not deserve it."

Vrena paused at his last words. She had learned already that he was a very quiet man who enjoyed killing none the less, was this guilt that she sensed coming from his words?

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* * *

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He was afraid he said too much. This was truly the longest, most momentous conversation he hadengadged inwith any person since he was drafted as a knight. Something about this woman made him more open with her, though he knew not what.

There was a silence that needed to be broken.

"The place you speak of is also where we are headed, though we have to make it there in a day's time. We cannot afford to delay." He explained.

"We planned to start off tomorrow, but you seem to have put a dent in our schedule." He finished, looks of sorrow filling her face again. Regretting the way he had phrased his words, he added more.

"If you think that you can ride full-speed without pain, Arthur will let you travel with us." He watched as her face lit up again.

"Really? What is Arthur's business with Marius, anyhow?" She asked.

Tristan halted their conversation and realized he had lost track of time.

"Ask _him_ of that. We must ride with haste now and meet them down the north road where the mountains rise. Will you answer my_ last_ question?" He urged her, then felt a hard object slam into his leg just after. It wasn't as if she was trying to knock him off his horse, so he allowed no thoughts of retaliation into his mind. Instead he just gave her a warning look, which she ignored.

"I thought Sarmatian knights were supposed to be brave, fearless and kind- not as arrogant as the Romans. And _yes_, I can ride as fast as anyone else. Shall we go now?" She said and sent his glare right back at him.

Tristan paused.

"Now that I think of it, there is a way you can repay me."

"Tell me."

"I never received your name." He said and looked in her direction.

"Vrena. But I think _kicker of scouts_ still seems to suit me quite well." She express with amusement, kicking her horse with her boot and urging him to rush in their designated direction.

Tristan sighed and did the same.

They shared no more words, only focused on the path ahead of them.

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* * *

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"She's gone, the witch escaped!" came the shout of a guard running towards the crowds.

Relief washed over the knights, and Arthur closed his eyes, thanking his god.

"Ah, well, that ends _that_. But where exactly do we ride?" Lancelot asked Arthur in a hushed tone. But the knights watched in question -and _Lancelot_ in horror- as the hawk thatwas perched on his forearm flapped its wings and tugged at the fabric of his outfit.

Lancelot spat a few naughty words and almost clawed the animal, but it flew off in a northern direction.

"Arthur, I think it wants us to follow it." Dagonett spoke as they watched the bird fly further towards the road nearly a mile away.

"Indeed." Arthur answered and signaled his knights to move out in the direction of the hawk, which he knew would lead them to their scout. The man of few words had succeeded in his plan, and now they must rush for lost time.

"Ay, once you manage to catch the witch again, send me an invite." Bors hollered to the town's priest who stood in disbelief. The girl from earlier who resembled their lady in distress had a vile look on her face, as if she wanted to kill something.

The knights rode off, leaving the town of Tirth behind, their mission completed.

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Well, that was an eventful chapter. I just finished writing two chapters in one day XD…

Hope you guys enjoyed this one as much as I enjoyed typing it! Especially the scene with Tristan and Vrena's argument.

III Cari III


	8. Woads and Sarmatians

**_Dw_**- xD nice one. I hate it when someone says or does something hilarious right when you take a sip of something…

**_Calliann_**- Glad you liked it:D More in the future, I assure you.

**_HGandRHrforever_**:P yay! Sorry it took so long to update. I wrote my excuse at the bottom somewhere…

**_Verteri Lunum_**- Thanks :D yay for the story, boo for my dad and his bad timing, making my updates take longer.

**_Camlann_**- Thanks for reviewing almost all the chapters :D You didn't really need to, but if it suits you, I don't mind!

**_katemary77_**- Eh, I don't know how intriguing it will turn out to be. I'll let the reviewers decide :P

**_Noemy009_**- That would be interesting, Tristan loosing his mind…that would make a very nice humor fanfic.

**_Op_**- xD ok, ok, don't try to sound **too** happy. More is coming.

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**Chapter 8- Woads and Sarmatians**

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When Tristan and Vrena had successfully reunited with the other six knights (_who were all more then glad to see them alive_), Vrena's situation was explained to Arthur, and it was up to him to decide on how they would act upon the matter. The moon was now invisible in the sky; the world was black, except for the glittering stars.

"So, your destination is also the town owned by Marius?" Arthur asked for the fifth time before he could come to a conclusion.

Like he had a _choice_ what her conclusion was, though.

"Yes, that town is my destination. How many times must you ask?" She replied with a deep sigh. Didn't Tristan say that they could not afford to waste time? Then what was **this**! Vrena shook her head. She could feel a headache coming on…

"Did you not listen to me when I informed you of the Saxon army headed right for it?"

"Yes, all the more reason to go."

"It's dangerous."

"Nothing I cannot handle."

"You can barely walk strait, and yet you think you can manage throughout the atrocious northern _climate_?" Arthur continued to argue. There were two possible reasons that this man would not want her to travel with them- He either feared for her safety, or thought that she would get in the way. Neither of which he should be concerned about.

"Of course I can, I'm **from** the north! I know Britons climate as well as the lot of you. And I am going- _with_ or _without_ your consent." Vrena snapped back at Arthur. Saxons anywhere wasn't good news, and they were headed towards her innocent aunt, which she would not tolerate.

Thinking about it, if she had never met the knights here near Tirth, she probably would have met them at Marius' town anyway. How convenient.

"It would not be safe to travel alone though, especially not on nights like these…_oh_." Arthur admitted, recalling the dangers of the woodland.

Vrena could have told them of her Woad background from childhood, but decided against telling. Sarmatians and Romans, she had learned, were not too fond of Woads. _The good points_: If she told them, she could easily help them through the forests. Woads know another of their kin when they see one, and would not attack her after seeing her ride freely with these men. _The bad points_: They would probably abandon her right then, disgusted with her.

None of the knights seemed to look ready to move but Tristan, who had been distancing himself from all of them. But Arthur, Lancelot, Dagonett, Galahad, Gawain, and Bors seemed to be under a serious discussion. All of them were still contemplating bringing her along, the others imagining what they would be ordered to do once they got there.

As they had told her already, their plan was to obtain Marius' and her aunt's son, Alecto, and bring him to a bishop by the name of Germanius. It seemed an easy task, but adding in the Saxon army marching towards the town with only a day or two until _they_ reach it…that changed the matters.

Someone was going to have to move, and Vrena was the only one willing to do it.

Allowing a groan of annoyance to be released from her throat, she urged her horse into a steady trot down the worn dirt path. They had already been in the woods, but deep in the thick parts is where all the Woads spent their time. She would not have to worry about them too much. Would the really attack an un-armed, un-prepared woman anyways?

She felt the eyes of the knight's heat up her back as she passed Tristan, voluntarily easing into the woodland.

"Miss Vrena, where do you think _you're_ venturing off to?" Lancelot called from about thirty feet away, but she refused to halt Arvin. She was going, and didn't feel like stopping.

When she twisted her head, she could see Tristan giving Arthur an amused look that clearly said '_she's being a better commander then you are_'. Studying the scouts face, she could tell he was eager to leave as well.

And when Tristan showed emotion, obviously something needed to be done.

Arthur sighed.

"Alright then, we ride now. If we can keep this pace up until afternoon tomorrow, that would be a reasonable goal. Do you think you can handle a night's lack of sleep?" He finally agreed; then aimed the question towards all of them, not just her, which she was pleased with.

The silent agreement had been made as all seven knights rode forward. Vrena sped up her horse to keep ahead, how she liked it. She knew how to get to the freezing mountains which they would have to ride over to reach town, but from there on she was lost. Only once had she ventured through them, and that had been over ten years ago, at the very least.

The woods remained thin for a good lengthy period of time. She knew that it would be _early_ in the morning until the woods would begin to thicken, and they would need to slow down their pace. From then on it would be that way until a while later, in which then it will be –from **her** perspective- _very _early in the morning. Estimated, they would make it to the mountains by sunrise and no later, unless complications arose, which she prayed they would not.

Feeling her eyes burn, she knew that she was already as tired as anything, and needed sleep. Did she not, she would most likely pass out while riding upwards; which would result in a mighty fall and a good trampling, along with some curses and swears from the Knights of the Round Table.

She remembered when she had been nearly a child and slept on her horse while it followed Naeda and Vejha on their grey one, the horrible memory of the long ride sticking to her thoughts like hot needles. Did she dare allow Arvin to follow the knight's steeds and at least rest her eyes as she did so long ago?

It was always worth a try. Besides, her bones and bruises were aching. Dozing off would temporarily erase her mind of the pain.

She watched the confused look on some of the knights faces as she moved Arvin off to the side of the path, allowing them to move ahead of her. She placed the hood of her cape back onto her head and began to ride behind them.

"What the blazes do you think you're _doing_?" Asked Galahad, who had been riding at the rear of the group.

"Catching some shut-eye. Arvin will follow you, pay no heed to me." She said as she removed her arms from the cloaks sleeves and wrapped her hand around the thick leather of Arvin's reigns, and stuck her boots into the stirrups further so that they would remain there.

"Falling asleep on a horse, are you _mad_?" He asked in disbelief.

"Not at all, just talented."

"If you fall, I'm not rushing back to catch you. Perhaps you **are** the witch Tirth's townsfolk said you were, if you can perform such a feat." Galahad retorted in a joking way. Though she knew he had been teasing, the last comment made her stomach churn.

"Sleep with one eye open, dear Galahad. For when you decide to rest your eyes, you may awaken with those gorgeous curls of yours missing." Vrena threatened, sending his joke right back at him. She watched as Galahad looked up and around at his hair, a worried look nestled onto his face.

"Ignore my last comment, then. Sleep well." He finished, returning his attention back to guiding his horse through the trees. Hopefully she would snap out of her slumber before they reached the thick part of the woods.

Allowing Arvin to follow as the men led, she rested her head up against his neck. And though it was moving, and their pace had quickened, she managed to doze off.

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A long time after making her decision, Vrena had successfully fallen asleep.

Tristan knew that sleeping while riding was indeed possible, though took time to get use to. Not that he had done it before by any means. In fact, the heavy galloping of his steed was the only thing keeping him awake. They were beginning to edge nearer and nearer into the thicker woods. The trees had already begun to grow taller, and less underbrush could be seen.

It was only a few more long periods of time before they would be through these dangerous woods. Had they have taken the normal path, they would not have had to dodge trees and fallen logs for this long time. But their original pathway would have leaded them around instead of through this extensive and ancient forest, causing them to loose more time then necessary.

Not too long after, the moon came out from its hiding place. The forest had gotten brighter, though now it didn't nearly matter as much; the trees so thick and leaves and branches to plentiful that only a flicker of the white light could be spotted.

He set his senses on high alert, and the rest of the knights began to slow their pace to a quick trot.

This was _Woad_ territory now.

For a second, Tristan wondered if having a frail; vulnerable and injured woman among them would be enough to convince the blue ghosts to ignore them, just this once. But the thought became lost in his head, him realizing that Merlin's hate for them was stronger then that. More then once had he sent his warriors after them no matter what the cause.

Turning his head slightly to see the lady sound asleep on her steed, he knew why Arthur had not wanted her to follow.

As if he had subconsciously read Arthur's mind, the man called him from behind.

"Tristan." Arthur spoke quietly and calmly. Tristan turned.

"Go behind and lead lady Vrena's horse up to the head next to you. It would probably be safer." His roman friend spoke to him and also turned to see Arvin trotting along, Vrena proving herself to be a heavy sleeper.

Obeying his orders without question –mainly because he agreed with Arthur's decision on the woman's safety, He turned his horse and used what little space he had on the side to slide by the others. He pet the white stallion to ensure it that he was not going to hurt it, and grabbed one of the leather straps from the reigns that held them to his face, and led him up to the front, Arvin reluctantly following.

Again he swerved around the other knights and made his way up to the lead again.

_That_ was when Vrena shot up from her resting position as if she had just seen the living dead.

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'Twas a peaceful dream she had been in. Key word: _had_. Until the horror of it all began to unfold.

She remembered it as if it had actually happened at some point in time. And maybe it had. Like some sort of lost memory hidden in her childhood that sprung up after the days events.

_"Vrena, Vrena!" Vejha called as the childlike form ran closer and closer to her._

_She had been resting in a large golden field, the wheat plentiful and the sun shining. She was not in Briton or Rome…somewhere peaceful and calm, where chirping birds could be heard from miles away and flowers of different colors would bloom._

_"Vrena!" Vejha called her name again, closer now. She could almost smell her sister, whom always seemed to bring the aroma of honeysuckles about._

_She looked up to her sister, now laying on the ground next to her, their young forms hidden by the tall wheat and other towering undergrowth._

_"What are you doing?" Her sisters voice flowed into her mind, she couldn't tell if they were spoken or not._

_"Looking at the sun…" She replied._

_"Silly, that's impossible. You would be blind as a cave bat already." Her sister laughed at her, and she giggled back._

_That was when she noticed that they were speaking in their native tongue._

_"This is so lovely…where are we, anyways?" She asked her sister. But when she turned to look at her sibling, she instead saw herself, as if she was looking through a mirror of time, looking at her older self as she was in the present. Though she knew she was in the body of her child self._

_"Where we belong, Vrena. Where we were destined to be the day our mother bore us." Her sister's voice spoke through her body, though at the time it seemed so normal._

_"Our mother…I remember her, but I do not remember our father."_

_"Do you want to remember that horrible man with **filth** for blood?" her sister's voice spat._

_"What makes you think such things, sister? Mother always told us he was a brave man." Was this because of who our father was? Where he was from? She suddenly remembered._

_"Why do you think so highly of him? His people **killed** our people. His people **murdered** our mother. Do you not understand this?"_

_Vrena's childish body froze solid as if paralyzed. Romans had killed her mother, not these men she had heard were also fighting for the Romans. Naeda had told her this herself, and she knew that Naeda would never lie. Unless there had been something kept from her?_

_"True, Naeda has never lied. But Naeda has hid things from you, little sister. Things that she refused to tell me, but I found out in the end…"_

_"What do you mean? Vejha, you're speaking in riddles." She said, remembering her place. Suddenly, the body that had been hers now had shorter hair and bright green eyes. Woad eyes. She had always wondered why her sister bore those while hers were brown with grey, the colors rarely found in Woad children._

_"Do you not see, Vrena? We are different. You have more of him in you, less of her. That is why you belong here, this way. Forever."_

_"But I don't understand." I spoke. "Where am I? Where do I belong?" The question rang in her head as if haunting her._

_Vejha let out a harsh laugh, not one she knew her kind sister for._

_"Where doyou belong, you ask me? It's a simple question, answer it yourself!" Vejha taunted, her eyes becoming a fiercer green with every word. The golden fields began to disappear and the colors began to grey, her vision dimming._

_"Vejha, wait! Don't leave me! Where must I belong?" her weak, child-like voice rang through the blackness. Another sharp, almost pitiful laugh erupted from her sister's now distant voice._

_"**Dead**. And keep a close watch of your surroundings. You never know what is following you from close behind…"_

With that said, the last part remained in her head like thick paste. But "_Dead_" echoed over and over, getting rid of it felt like trying to break a stone in half with your bare hands.

The echoing of Vejha's harshest word remained in her mind, yet now her warning sprung up from under her mixed thoughts.

_"And keep close watch of your surroundings. You never know who is following you from close behind."_

Almost instantly, a sharp pain slammed into her chest and she nearly lost her breath. But when she shot up from her sleeping position, there was no evidence of a physical attack. Her breath was now quick, as if she had been deprived of oxygen.

Spinning her head in all directions nervously, she caught perplexed stares from the knights, including Tristan. But she didn't have time to explain to them why she bolted up out of the blue.

She hated this feeling. The feeling that she was being watched.

And then she felt it.

Like a ghost, a luminous presence entered her mind, her senses fully alerted. Someone was out there in the woods. But then it glowed brighter in her mind, like a candle. It was out there, but she could not see it with her eyes. Like a ghost…

A Ghost.

A _Blue Ghost_.

_'Dozens of them'_ a mental message made its way through her brain, drawing her to the conclusion.

She knew that Woads could sense the presence of other Woads, but the only one she had known for the past ten or so years was her sisters, which she had gotten use to. Every Woad had a different glow to them, and these were certainly new. New and dangerous.

She quickly halted Arvin, causing him to rear slightly on his hind legs and cry out, somewhat surprised with his riders' sudden break. And like any normal chain reaction, Bors and Galahads horses stopped. Arthur, Gawain, Tristan, Lancelot, and Dagonett shot glares at her.

"The hell was that fo-" But Vrena swung out her hand to silence Lancelot.

Woads were _everywhere_. They were surrounded.

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Tristan was just as surprised as anyone else with the ladies strange outburst, and knew that something was wrong as she halted their ride.

Taking in her warnings, he studied the silence carefully. Then he heard what he had not while the horse's hooves were stomping on the ground-

The stretching of a string, most likely adjusting an arrow to fit on it.

Was this what the lady had heard? He was sure _not_. Kicking those thoughts forcefully away, he focused on the situation at hand. Questions later. He knew that they were now not alone in the woodland.

"Woads. They're tracking us." He turned to Arthur. The Roman's face became serious and like stone at the mention of the beings. Indeed this was not good. He saw the other knights glance around, now scanning the area.

Tristan and Vrena had now turned to face the others. Vrena's face was shockingly pale and her complexion looked frightened, you could tell even with her hood shading her eyes. But Tristan greatly doubted that she was scared. More like shocked at something. Again, he put the questions at the bottom of his mind as he usually did. It was not his business.

"Where?" Arthur asked and gave his scout a grave look. But it was not his scout who answered. Instead, the mystified, silent voice of Vrena answered.

"_Everywhere_."

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Just as she had let the word escape her mouth, she saw a blue ghost from behind a tree whip out his bow, aiming it right for them.

"_GO_!" She shouted and whipped Arvin around as fast as she could, sprinting down the path. The other knights followed suit, and the first arrow missed them. But it was not the last.

They did not manage to get far before barbed wires with spikes and all sorts of painful things shot up, tied with vine and rope, preventing her from riding any further.

Her Woadish adrenaline began to kick into gear, along with another instinct that told her to think smart and clearly, or she would not make it out alive. She blocked out how sore she still was, how scared she had felt after her dream, and concentrated on saving herself- _and_ the knights.

But she didn't need to do that. They also knew what they were doing, or else what would be the point of the stories?

"This way!" Bors yelled, and the eight of them dodged trees, heading east, but again didn't make it too far as more blockades sprung up.

Before they knew it, they were trapped.

'_Do they not sense that I am also Woad?_' She thought to herself as she watched a blue ghost bowman, hidden behind a tree before, spring out and aim directly at her.

But didn't let go.

Hope kicked in that he sensed it, and she heard a quiet swear come from one of the knights, most likely Bors or Lancelot. Maybe both.

She waited. Waited for the arrow to pierce her, but the pain never came. Closing her eyes, she could still sense the Woad with his bow aimed, ready to unleashthe arrowand send her to her death.

_Before_, he had sensed something else in her. But _now_ what he became aware of sent him back a few feet, skepticism in his eyes. She sensed him slightly lower his bow.

Even from the distance, her eyes opened up again and searched his, still trying to catch her own breath. Green eyes. Like her sisters. They remained this way for what seemed like an eternity, but her concentration broke as a loud horn billowed in the distance, making all their heads turn.

But when **her** head turned, all seven of the knights seemed to also be staring at the Woad warrior, who could have easily killed the lass- but decided not to.

They all stared in disbelief as around a dozen Woads sprinted towards the direction of the horn, leaving Vrena and the knights behind.

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I'm **SO** freaking sorry for how long it took me to get this up! Right while I was in the middle of updating it (_good thing I save a lot, or Id've lost the whole thing_.) my dad comes in and says "I need to fix your Verizon e-mail, get off." Which is complete BS, because I don't even use Verizon, I use my yahoo for everything to keep him the hell off.

But yea, it takes him an hour to do it, then my internet cuts off at nine because HE set it too, which screwed me over completely.

I'm not having a good day. Hope you enjoyed the chapter none the less.

III Cari III


	9. You would Only Laugh

**_HGandRHrforever_**- Nah, she's not a witch, just inherited her mother's Woad instincts :P Now give me my damn cybercookie. I didn't eat for the four hours I've been working on this. :P

**_Calliann_**- Indeed they can. I'm glad you liked that exchange between Galahad and Vrena too :D

**_katemary77_**- You're very good at guessing you're correct, by the way. Though after reading this chapter, everyone will know. If the dream sequence confused you, I'll just stick it into a nutshell- Vrena's subconscious knew that her sister hated Sarmatians and that they helped kill off her mother and her old home. She _now_ knows that this is why Vejha wants her dead- because when she looks at her, she doesn't see Woad, only Sarmatian. Get it?

**_Dw_**- Yes, if only everyone understood that XD…

**_Lovebuggy_**- Yea, I went back and read, and saw a few errors –particularly ones with a dysfunctional space bar...

**_Tenshikoneko03_**- Someone does find out this chapter, but the rest of the knights won't know until later on.

**_Camlann_**- Yea, Vejha's gone a little whacked-up in the head. See the 'Vrena's dream in a nutshell' I typed for

**_Etraya_**- I don't think I'll be killing off Vrena oo Everyone would probably turn on me and hate me, spam my mail, send me viruses disguised as chain mail… . that would be bad!

**_Op_**- Glad you're still interested in it...:D

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**Chapter 9- You would only laugh**

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The temperature had declined rapidly as they had madetheir way out of the think forest, nearing even closer to the mountains- very soon they would be at Marius' town.

Since the misfortune of being hunted by Woads back in the forest, no one had dared to speak a word. Strangely not even to her, though she knew that her mysteries would soon become inevitable to hide, and eventually she would be asked about who she was. The thoughts may be only in the back of the knight's minds now, but _oh_, you just wait…the questions will pop up in a jiffy.

She was very much awake now, the cold began to make her breath come out in puffs of heat, fogging the air in front of her, and then fading with every new intake. Speaking of her breathing patterns, they were still quick, and her mind waseven nownervous and keen of every movement. She remained in front of the group as they rode quickly up the winding path of the snowy mountain, so none of them could see her fearful face.

…None except _Tristan_, who was riding a bit ahead. Since the surprise attack, he had only turned his head to look at her once;but even as his face remained unreadable and unresponsive, his eyes said differently. You could tell, even with the few long strands of loose brown hair covering them- _Reproachful and accusing_. As if he knew something that the other knights did not.

But after that, their ride had quickened, speeding themfast towards the town. If they kept up their contemporary pace, they would make it there by noon, perhaps sundown.

Vrena's leg began to pinch a bit as her muscles commenced re-adjusting inside her leg, finallyfinishing uptheir mendingof the wound to form it into a scar. _Painful?_ Very. _Important at the moment?_ Not at all.

But something else was also irritating her, something harder to get out of her mind. The dream she had experienced not too long ago still made her shudder under her thick, warm cloak and old worn-in clothing.

Perhaps she had known all along that her sister despised Sarmatians, and her brain had dug into that fact like a crook breaking into a locked box.

Yes, her father had indeed been Sarmatian. She had known that fact for quite a long time now, since she had been old enough to remember. But had Naeda really held an ice-cold secret from her?

She could have sworn that only **Roman** soldiers had attacked their defenseless home and killed their mother. No information of Sarmatian warriors had ever graced her ears. But perhaps the knights would know? They were not much older then herself, but would probably be aware of many battles against Woads their people have won in the past.

She decided to ask this as Tristan began to slow down, clearly urging them to give themselves, possibly _her_, a small break from riding. A few minutes wasted would not hurt too much. But the whole time he avoided contact with her. So instead, she decided it reasonable enough to ask Arthur, who had ventured far over towards a nearby cliff, for the sake of gazing at the frozen land below.

Her feet crunched in the snow and she huddled further into the sanctity of her cloak, not allowing the wind to faze her. He gave her a welcoming stare and allowed her to join him, as they both gazed out at the earth- _Glazed with white, with some green visible from trees_; it was a beautiful sight indeed.

"Is there something you wish to confide in me?" He questioned, his voice unfaltering and strong through the cold breeze.

"Nay, Nothing more then a simple question. Do I have your approval to ask it?" She spoke, trying not to sound too forward with him. He was Arthur Castius, the leader of the Knights of the Round Table for fifteen years. He deserved respect for it.

"You do not need it." He informed her. She decided to ask more directly then planned.

"In the past, say near eleven or twelve years ago, were there any attacks against unprepared Woad villages? If you do not feel like answering, I will pretend never to have spoken." She said, crossing her arms and turning to see what the reply on his face might say.

There was a moment of silence, and Arthur looked like he was thinking hard on something.

"Long ago, when I was just learning tobe a knight, there indeed was an unfair battle against the Woads that should not have taken place. But only _one_ that I can recall clearly." The leader heaved a sigh, thinking of no other way to say what was on his mind.

"Is it too much to bold of me to ask more of the topic?" She asked. The worst thing she could do right now was intrude on Arthur's privacy and misuse his time…but if she had his _approval_ to, that was different. Again Arthur looked out to the land; his eyes unfocused, as if he was recalling a memory.

"Near around that time you mentioned, a fleet from the Roman army along with some newly recruited Sarmatian warriors -_skilled ones_ at that- were wandering through a path in the woodland trying to make it to the wall. Story is that they crossed paths with a residing Woad village early morning, and by afternoon had killed them all off. But remember _this_, lady Vrena…" Arthur stopped and took a breath, turning to face her.

"My hate for Woads runs _deep_, yet whenever I think of _any_ enemy village being attacked by an army twice their size, I begin to feel ill."

"I am sorry for reminding you, then. Excuse my lack of knowing." She apologized. Arthur simply nodded.

"Now you must excuse me, I need to speak with my knights." And with that, he walked off, leaving her by herself to look into the distance.

Vrena knew very well the ill feeling Arthur had mentioned. The one that makes your skin crawl, the feeling of realization. The pain that something you now understand has turned on you and reared you in the stomach. Knowing more about yourself in that moment then you thought you could in your life.

She was feeling that this very moment.

But then _so what if her sister had been right_? If Sarmatians had helped ruin their lives? A true and heart-tearing fact indeed, but it gaveVejha nor her any reason to hate Sarmatians men or women or children. Vrena saw no reason forher sisterto want _her_ blood spilt.

_Perhaps her sister had known the fact for so long that it had driven her mad?_

She prayed not, for if so, there was no hope.

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"I'm sick of this bloody weather. I hate this island more and more with every step I take on it." Gawain said with amusement in his voice, but everyone knew he was telling the truth. None of them enjoyed Briton much, and only Arthur took a liking to Rome. Obviously Vrena despised both, but then none of them knew where on earth her heart truly lay.

There were many mysteries to the lady, some Tristan knew of and some he did not.

He knew, for instance, that she was indeed Woad, or _carried_ Woad blood- and that she knew about her inheritance. He remembered many years ago far back in his training, when a few Roman soldiers had killed a Woad who misfortunately wandered near their camp site. The men had been scolded, and he remembered the words of his commander in those early years…

"_Fool, do you not know? They can sense their kin! You'll probably have an entire Woad pack after us before noon!_"

Surely enough, Woads _had_ attacked them earlier that day. A good dozen of their men traveling had been killed, and they had only been a fleet of a hundred or so. But they had managed in the end to make it to their destination safely, without any more Woad interference.

"We should ride _now_, Arthur. The lady said she can handle long journeys, let her keep to her word." Galahad said, not realizing who had just walked up behind him.

"_Aye_, let me keep to my word. Off we go, then." She said, patting a surprised Galahad on the shoulder as she walked past them and over to Arvin, who swished his silver tail as she made her way to him. Sometimes that horse seemed more like a dog then a steed from his point of view.

As they rode off again, he took notice that Vrena was now traveling in between the party, not to the rear or head of it. She was looking less sadistic compared to before though. Scaring the bejesus out of Galahad must have snapped her back to life.

He watched from the rear as she twisted her body to face poor Galahad, and grabbed a handful of her long, wavy black hair. Beginning to cut it with an imaginary blade, she gave Galahad a quick wink before turning around, pleased with the frightened look on the knights' face.

True, her facial features did not describe her as Woad. Yes, she had the pale complexion and the midnight black hair that some of them possessed, but her eyes acted as her most valuable disguise. Her eyes belonged to something else. They were dark, almost as dark as his own. Woads did not have Dark eyes, he knew for a fact. All the ones he had killed or faced in battle had eyes that could pierce the air and send chills up your spine.

Nothing he had ever sensed from this girl gave him a reason to fear or hate her, and if she really was working for Merlin, it would have been obvious to him by then.

She was indeed innocent of _any_ accusation he could send her way.

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If eyes could burn holes, she would be a dead lass by now.

She knew that Tristan had been keeping an eye on her ever since they left their pit-stop. It was making her nervous, and she wished silently that he would take his eyes from her.

But at the same time, knowing that someone was looking out for you -even if it was _hardly_ for a good reason- comforted her. Is it normal to be calm and nervous at the same time? She highly doubted it.

But this had to stop, never the less.

She pulled her horse off to the side again, and saw a confused Arthur command the others to keep riding as she turned and halted Tristan.

"Fear nothing Arthur. I just need to have a word in private with your scout." She spoke, trying to assure him that she was not a lunatic or whatever he may have thought she was.

To her astonishment, Tristan also reassured his commander.

"We'll catch up." He said, halting his horse. Arthur gave them both a look, hoping that they wouldn't take too long with whatever they needed to talk about. No secrets were kept between knights, but this discussion was between a knight and a lady, which meant that it was none ofhis business.

Arthur then turned and headed forward to catch back up with the other men, who were still glancing over their shoulders to see what the commotion was about.

A few moments passed, and the six knights excluding Tristan could be seen heading up the next small hill, soon to disappear behind another one.

In order to not stay _too_ far behind, Vrena kicked Arvin into a steady trot. Tristan followed suit.

"What is it that you wish to discuss?" He asked, since she didn't seem to want to speak her mind as she usually did. Accepting his invitation, she spoke.

"Why do you treat me as a if a menace?" He was only semi-shocked with her question. It was bound to come up sooner or later, yes, but he had expected it later on in their discussion, not _first thing_. Never the less, he did not need time to think of an answer, and spoke only what he knew, not what he thought.

"I know that you mean no harm, and do not think ill of any of the knights or Arthur for that matter, but…you are still Woad. That is enough to make _anyone_ vigilant." He said, and was answered with a half sigh, half laugh.

"Excuse my Woad blood, sometimes even I forget that it runs through me." She said, looking up at the light falling of snow as it landed on her face.

"But when you forget that you are Woad, what are you then?"

Vrena was now the one shocked with overwhelming questions.

"Why should I tell you?" She asked seriously. Her face was stern; he had obviously stepped over an invisible line. Their conversations were always nevertheless filled with awkward questions, glares, and the constant breaching of the other's territory.

Intriguing, by any normal person's standards. But these two people were not exactly normal.

"Do you judge I would gossip about it to all my acquaintances?" He asked sarcastically, still leaving his face unreadable as ever. He knew that she already knew the answer to that question.

He rarely conversed with the _knights_, only to state his opinion or tell them which direction to head. He never spoke to anyone when they entered a new _town_, why bother? He had no good reason to. Why talk to this _lady_? _Because_…an answer declined to come to him.

"_No_, but even if I told you, you would only laugh." She said. From her refuge under her hood, he could see a worried face. Was she worried he would figure out what her other half consisted of and loathe her for it? Or perhaps the answer is _worse_ then he thought it to be.

"I haven't laughed for as long as I can remember, what makes you think whatever you say will make me _now_?" He replied. Vrena gripped her horses reigns tighter and bit her lip. Indeed, he had just crossed yet another line.

No sooner had he realized that, a familiar pain shot up his leg, and he watched she pulled her horse back slowly, to where she had been positioned before; proving yet again the title given to her by his comrades.

"Yet your _answer_ is closer then you think."

He knew for a fact that it was nothis last question she had just answered. Before he could retort, she had already tapped Arvin's side with her boot, and began to move faster. They both sprinted their horses, Arthur and the others now further ahead of them.

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Vrena sped up Arvin a bit with every moment. They had about another two miles at the most to go before catching up with the others, and then they would soon be at the town owned by Marius.

Her conversation with the mysterious scout had ended the way she wanted it. She had given him a chance to know, but placed it indirectly. And whether he had guessed or not, she felt glad that his glares had not been of accusation, but of curiosity.

They had finally reached the others, who were giving them looks of anything _but_ curiosity. Sarcasm intended.

But all their hopes had lifted shortly after that, for they had made it to Marius' town, and were now being questioned by lookouts. Arthur explained to them the reason for their visit, and the guardsmen ordered the horses to pull open the heavy stone doors.

That was when she realized...she was _starving_.

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(A/N: You don't know how _eager_ I was to have Tristan thinking '_Payback is a bitch_' right here xD)

Woo…yea, I know, this one wasn't all that long, but jam-packed with all kindsa stuff Even I thought my _brain_ would go dead. That or my computer would reboot...

Hope everyone liked it, and thank you all for the 60 reviews! it made my day!

III Cari III


	10. The Wall and Back

Ok. I'm sorry to do this, guys- but today there will be no comments on comments!

Apparently a lot of people became confused with the last chapter. Many questions about Vrena and Vejha, their backgrounds, some other weird questions, and one odd question about horses, to make it simple.

First off, I would like to answer the questions and concerns of **Hunt Seat Panhead**.

Your first question was, "**what gender is Arvin**?" Male, of course. That has been said several times already in the story; I would obviously not call him a he if he was a she. (But thank you for pointing out that have accidently called him a mare a few times. My bad.)

You also informed me that stallions come in the following colors- "grey, albino, paint, pinto, leopard spotted, dapple, flea-bitten, and roan but not WHITE." To correct you, YES. A breed of stallion does exist, part quarter horse. As stated from a professional horse breeder and I quote: "The names of the different horse colors are really quite simple. What makes it complicated, is that there are so many regional varieties of the colors."

Another thing, if I am not mistaken, you mentioned that stallions can be albino. You do know that albino means- "an organism exhibiting deficient pigmentation; _especially_ a human being or nonhuman mammal that is congenitally deficient in pigment and usually has a milky or translucent skin, white or colorless hair, and eyes with pink or blue iris and deep-red pupil". Correct me if I'm wrong.

One thing you did rightfully correct me on, however, was that a mare horse is female. For that, I will apologize, but nothing else. Perhaps I should get more horse experts to proofread my fan fiction before I post it? I am also glad to hear that you like Vrena's character, despite how angry I seem as I rant to you. But please, if you want to give me a long lecture on the colors of stallions, I check my e-mail daily. My AIM address is also on my user's page.

_Anyway._

**_To Puppynap_**- Yes, Arthur was at the raid that killed Vrena's mother. It was kind of self-explanatory about two chapters or so ago, when part of Arthur and the knight's past was reviewed. -

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**Vrena and Vejha's background**- YES, their mother was **Woad**, and father **Sarmatian**. They were both born from the **same parents**. The reason that Vejha hates Vrena so much is because people like their father killed her mother. To stuff it into a nutshell, yet avoid too many spoilers for later chapters: _VEJHA IS ON THE BRINK OF INSANITY_. She was born a tad unstable, which is not impossible. The incident with their mother being killed by their father's kin just sparked the beginning of it. So technically, Vejha hates Sarmatians with a passion, and as the years flew by, she saw how more and more Sarmatian her sister had become, which led her to want Vrena dead.

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If it is still too complicated for any of you, just…give up reading xD. Truthfully, the plot isn't all that complicated.

**_Dw-_** I'm glad you're one of the only people who reviewed for chapter nine that WASN'T confused about anything. May it be because young fanfictioners roam this place like a playground? Possibly. It's nice to have someone older and more experienced voice their opinion, because they show more common sense then anyone else .

**_Etraya-_** Take a look at the long, unbearably extensive paragraph on Vrena and Vejha's background. :P

**_Juju-_** Glad you're enjoying it so far :D welcome to the story.

**Also, an important note-** If I seem a bit aggravating and bitchy today, it's probably not because of you, but my school. Today, some idiot kid made a bomb threat- thus the whole high school had to evacuate for a good half hour and stand in the freezing cold, our lunch period was shortened, and I had to run in circles to find a bathroom that hadn't been flooded. And now my hands are sticky, which is irritating when I try to type. Twas not a good day.

The only thing I'm looking forward to after writing this chapter is a nice long episode of ER :P

I apologize if I was too rude to anyone.

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**Chapter 10- The Wall and Back**

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Deep within the forest, the old Woads sat in a circle, commencing with their age-old conference. The native tongue was spoken in all directions, men conversing with one another. Among them was one of their warriors, a Blue Ghost- he began to talk to Merlin, who was sitting on top a fallen tree.

"We should have _killed_ them, Merlin. At the very least, you should have let me slay the _woman_. She"-

"I know what she was, do not waste your breath trying to explain." Merlin replied in his low, creaking voice.

"I could sense it." The warrior continued anyways.

"She was of us, but also of them. And why not have killed the knights? We would have easily taken their lives that moment!"

"_Silence_." Merlin said in a stern voice. The other elder Woads gave him looks of concern and questioning. Did they not see the reason for keeping the knights alive? It had already been announced that a vast Saxon army was rootless and marching about.

"There might be a purpose for Artorius and his knights." He alleged.

"No! He is our _enemy_!" Said a hoarse and accusing Woad voice from next to him. Had they been informed of his plan, he would have scolded the man.

"So is the _Saxon_."

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By the time the gates were being pulled opened, Tristan had run off on Arthur's commands, apparently to scout the area. Vrena could see a few townsfolk run on top of the battlement, looking down at them.

Among them, she saw yet barely recognized the figure of her half-aunt, Fulcinia. From her spot on the ground, she could see the woman clearly- her face looked more sunken then it had all those years ago. Her curious eyes studied the knights, and then landed on her. She saw her aunt squint a bit, possibly trying to adjust her vision.

She couldn't read minds, but knew the elder woman acknowledged her.

Problem was, Fulcinia had a horrible memory, and probably didn't remember her name all too well. Vrena decided to jog her aunt's memory.

"Well I'll be _damned_, Flucy! Stop staring at your niece like she's the walking dead and come down to say hi!" Vrena shouted up to the woman, who clapped her hands to her mouth, now identifying her half-relative. Watching as her aunt darted off to the side and disappeared as she descended the steps,Vrena looked back down towards the stone gate, now open. The knights rode forward, but Vrena stayed where she was.

_Before blending herself in with any crowds, she needed to chat to Fulcinia in private._

She saw her aunt halt at the gates, looking frail and feeble, scanning the area. Watching her finally step outside the walls of the town was like watching a chicken being set loose from its coop.

Her aunt's gaze landed on her niece's leg, which was still wrapped and splinted thanks to Dagonett's wonderful handling of wounds. Fulcinia shot her a confused look.

"What happened?"

"_Vejha_ happened." Vrena reacted as calmly as she could, trying to wipe clear the image of a laughing Vejha in her mind. It was going to be difficult to explain to the elderly lady, whom she knew would not take it very well. After the years her and her sister had lived here, Vejha had seemed incapable of hurting a blade of _grass_.

They both looked over towards the entrance as two voices argued, one she identified to be Arthur, the other Marius. She knew that her uncle would not take this well, he had always treasured his land. She heard him order some of the townsfolk –who she noticed were looking much shoddier then they had ten years ago- to get back to work, but Arthur was demanding otherwise. She spotted Alecto in the crowd as well, looking grim.

Arthur seemed to be attracting a lot of attention over something, because an old, beaten-looking man was being hauled away carefully by a few of the surfs. She shuddered at the thought that she once also been in his state. Arthur was indeed a kind man to take notice of all the people who lived in Marius' town.

An odd look Vrena received from her good aunt, who now looked up and studied the scar on her cheek, which also thanks to Dag was disappearing quite swiftly.

"_Tell me_." But Vrena had no time to explain as she heard a galloping from behind, and twisted her head around to see Tristan riding quickly towards them. She watched as he halted his horse with ease, both of them seeming out of breath.

"Where is Arthur?" He spoke in even puffs. She was right, he was panting heavily. Yet he had only been gone for a short period of time. Vrena began to worry, and answered hastily.

"Speaking with Marius," She answered. She was about to ask what was causing him to loose his air, but he moved a few gallops towards the wall, and in seeing the scout, Arthur made his way over with swift feet. Vrena and Fulcinia put their conversation at a standstill and tuned into Tristan's news.

"They have flanked us to the east; they're coming from the south, trying to cut off our escape. They'll be here before nightfall." Tristan spoke, his breathing not yet steady. Arthur's face became paler then it had been, if that was possible.

"How many?" He asked.

"An entire _army_." Tristan answered back.

"And the only way out is to the south?"

Tristan shook his head in reply. Vrena could feel the tension building up in her body. This was not good. It was late into the afternoon now, there would be no tome to speak with her aunt until they had slid past the Saxons. Fulcinia had also abandoned hope of being able to talk until then, and they both separated; Vrena headed towards Arthur and Tristan whilethe elderly womanheaded towards her husband.

"_East_. There is a trail, heading east. Across the mountains. It means we'll have to cross behind the Saxon lines, if that's the road we shall take." Tristan said, and glanced only once at Vrena as she rode up to them.

"Arthur, who are these people?" The scout asked, beginning to breathe normally, the profound heaving of his chest slowing to a normal pace. He looked over towards the surfs being yelled at by Marius to hurry up and pack.

"They're coming with us."

"Then we'll never make it."

Vrena's ears then picked something up, and she knew Tristan had taken notice of it as well. Drums.

_Saxon drums_. Too early.

The whole crowd of people near them was overcome with silence, until the mercenaries shouted for them to move faster, causing them to scamper about.

Vrena glanced over to what looked like a stone temple of some sort, except the door was blocked by a newly built stone wall that looked unbreakable. Her gut was telling her to say something about it, but her words were caught in her throat as she sensed a dim presence. The same kind that had disturbed her back in the forest before the Woads had attacked them. And though she did not know for sure, she knew others were in there as well. How she knew _that_ she would probably never know…but it just seemed too strange in her gut to let the thought escape her mind.

Still mounted on Arvin as she _had_ been for nearly the whole day, she moved him over to the stone dwelling. A few serfs who had been in the way jumped out of her way, and she then noticed that two mercenaries had run to halt her, seeing the direction she had been headed.

"You cannot go in there! No one goes in there, this place is _forbidden_!" one of them shouted at her. She felt eyes on her from all direction. Way to go, Vrena the intelligent. Chew more then you can swallow.

But thankfully Arthur and Tristan had watched her actions, for they now rode up behind her- Tristan shooting the mercenaries a cold, unreadable look. Thenshifting his gaze to the side a bit, he also examined the wall. Arthur dismounted his steed and pulled out his well-known sword, which sent the gathering serfs back a few feet.

"What are you _doing_! **stop this**!" Marius shouted and emerged from behind the circle of people, a furious look on his face, heading right for them. But Lancelot and Gawain rode up in front of him, blocking his path. The drums were getting louder.

"_Arthur_, we have no time." Lancelot advised his friend.

"Do you not hear the drums?" Gawain added. An obvious thing to point out, but Vrena for one knew that people were inside, Woad or not. She knew how it felt to be locked up.

Paying no need to the guards still blocking her way to the door, she moved Arvin forward, and allowed him to do the work for her. Quickly shekicked him with her boot, causing him to rear upward; neighing loudly,he understood what she was commanding of him. The guards, taken back by the towering stallion about to squash them with his hooves, jumped defenselessly out of the way as her steed brought down his heavylegs to the stone.

Much to her luck, _something_ had been cracked; but only a few large, even stones had fallen from their place, while many more began to crack under the other's weight. But a decent amount of damage Arvin had done nonetheless, she would feed him a nice apple once she got the chance.

"Dagonett." Arthur commanded, and Vrena backed up, allowing the large form of the man to leap off his horse and move forward with his heavy axe.

Only three hits it took Dag to break down the wall. Pushing the remains of the crumblingrock to the side, he grabbed the handle of the door. It didn't budge.

"_Key_!" Arthur demanded one of the mercenaries.

"It's locked…from the _inside_." One replied weakly. Vrena groaned a bit. What on earth was so important about the people inside this stone cage?

Arthur again signaled Dagonett to do his business. With two heavy kicks, he had managed to break down the door, and it came down with a crashing thud.

Vrena dismounted Arvin, and moved forward quickly, not caring that there was no light inside the entrance.

But as she moved in further and had almost begun to loose her way in the blackness, a light came from behind, and she saw Lancelot along with Arthur and Dagonett enter. Gawain shortly followed after that.

A foul smell began to burn her nose, so badly that she covered it with the sleeve of her cloak. The others began to sense the reeking aroma as well, andLancelot let out a resonance of disgust.

"Who are these defilers of the Lord's temple!" A voice came from in front of her. A man, no doubt a monk, sprang forward, making her jump back a foot or two, so that she was now next to Lancelot, who pointed his sword out to the now _terrified_ monk.

They now looked around at the reason for the awful smell.

Many cells, with iron bars such as the one she had been in back in Tirth- all of them filled with two or more rotting corpses, thin from a long time of starvation.

She doubted any of them were alive. Her stomach did a few flips as she stepped further into the room, only to be grabbed harshly by another monk, whose eyes looked deluded and angry. Vrena let out a small shriek and tried to kick him off, but her only leg available to be used in such ways was frozen with the sudden fear that had overcome her.

"_How dare you set foot in this holy place_!" He shouted, but no sooner was he about to throw her at the wall did Lancelot's sword pierce his flesh. He kicked the monk's body away from her as the other monk from before came forward, furious.

"_There_ was a man of _god_!" He shouted, but Lancelot merely pushed him out of the way.

"Not **my** god!" He hollered, and began helping in the search for some _other _living thing in the dungeon besides pious monks.

"This one's dead." Dagonett informed them as he finished scanning a few more cells.

"By the smell, they're _all_ dead." Gawain retorted. No one was pleased at all with this hidden place.

Had her uncle Marius, whom she had once known to be a good man, allow things such as this to commence? Her stomach did some more flips as she felt like vomiting, but did not allow the bile to rise any further and steadily pushed it back down.

"I found one!" Dagonett said as he threw open a cell door that opened downward, its inhabitants trapped down below. Reaching in, Dagonett pulled out a young child, no more then ten. Vrena felt sick to her stomach.

Then she heard another cell door being kicked open by Arthur, who leaned down and pulled out a woman. Pale and weak, badly beaten she was, reminding Vrena so much of _herself_- that this time, the bile came up quicker then she could pressure it back into her stomach, and she quickly ran out of the dungeon; eyes shut tight, hoping to hold it for a few more seconds.

_She did not want to stay in there a moment longer_.

When the dimmed light of the hidden, cloudy sun reached her eyes, she ran a bit further away from the door and turned to hide her pale,disgruntled face, allowing the disgusting fluids to heave out of her stomach.

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He watched closely as Vrena bolted out of the place, her face pale and in pain. He listened as she allowed a quick intake of breath before turning around and gripping her hand to the stone wall, retching noises erupting from her throat as she threw up whatever had been _left_ in her stomach to begin with.

Descending from his horse,Tristan walked over quickly and grabbed the long black hair that was in the way, the curls encasing around his fingers. With another sharp intake of breath, she let go of the wall as her other hand clutched his forearm, gripping the fabric of the tunic covering it, her hands turning white as the vomit flowed freely out of her mouth again.

_The Saxon drums were barely a two miles distance, loud as they were._

He looked up as Dagonett came out, carrying a small boy. Followed by Lancelot, Gawain, and Arthur- who was carrying a woman wrapped in rags. He didn't need to think twice to know what she was. Looking at Vrena again, still retching with a period of breathing here and there, he wondered if she had sensed the Woad woman and thought to get all the obvious prisoners out.

He looked to Arthur, and Arthur to him as he continued to hold up Vrena's locks; bony fingers beginning to ease their way from his sleeve as she took gasps of breath, nothing left in her abdomen to release. She needed food. They _all_ did.

The first thing he noticed then was that he no longer could hear the drums of the Saxons. It was late- they could possibly just be taking a rest, or planning to set up camp. Either way, it calmed him down a little to know they had more time.

Second thing he realized was that Vrena had just been about to ease her way up, but her knees buckled underneath her,and she began to fall towards the earth. He grabbed hold of her arm to prevent the fall from hurting, and lifted her up, her body now limp and eyes closed.

"Looks like we have a fainter. Not that I didn't expect it." Lancelot came up behind him and helped him support the woman's body by grabbing her other arm.

"Did they stop?" the knight asked him. No drums could still be heard from any direction. Tristan nodded, unsure of any other way to reply, as he hoisted Vrena –who was _shockingly_ light- into his arms and made his way over to his horse; positioning her limp body on the ground next to it carefully.

"Arthur." He said. No matter how inactive the Saxons were, they needed to leave this moment. This stalling could not continue.

But Arthur shot him a look that would usually anger the scout, had the commander not been caring for the injured. Sighing, he looked at the woman Arthur was tending to. Vrena's aunt, Fulcinia, had brought over some water at Arthur's plead.

_He could really go for something to kill, right about now._

"She's _Woad_." He simply informed the Roman, who would not have guessed on his own train of thought.

"**Stop what you are doing**!" Came an angry Marius, running towards them.

"What **is** this madness?" Arthur demanded, every inch ofhis body aching with hate for this well-dressed, comfortable looking man who had probably eaten his share of meals that day.

"**They are all Pagans here**!" Marius fumed.

"So are we." Galahad spoke out of the blue, glaring at the man.

"They refuse to do the task God has set for them! _They must die as an example_!"

"You mean they refused to be your serfs!"

The argument heated up, Tristan could feel the tension vibrating in the air. They could argue later on in the trip, damn them. Even as much as he would love to slice Saxon hides right now, he was kneeling next to Vrena. For all he knew, at any minute she would wake up, and _this_ time would be an arms-width away from a few fundamental male organs. Her splint was probably ineffectual now, by any means.

When he looked up from his own world, he saw Marius took a good whap at his wife, right across the cheek. He wished one of the other knights would rid this man of his life, so that they would not have to bother with him. But none of them moved. Except Arthur, who stood and slammed his fist hard into the man's upper chest, knocking him to the ground.

Heunsheathed Excalibur yet again, pointing it at the foolish mans neck.

"_No, no_! Stop!" The landowner pleaded. Slowly Arthur removed Excalibur from its spot near the mans throat, sticking it back into its scabbard.

"When we get to the Wall, you will be _punished_ for this heresy!" Marius hissed. But Arthur grabbed him and shook him hard once.

"Perhaps I should kill you now and seal my fate!"

_Please, do_.

From a few feet away,Tristan heard one of the monks that had come outside the dungeon mumble something about dieing, but at this point he couldn't give a care less. He was getting irritable again, like he had back at the wall only two days ago. A sign that he needed rest.

"_Arthur_." Tristan spoke again firmly to his commander, now feeling how heavy his eyelids were as they were eager to pull themselves down to rest.

The mental monk, still blabbing, spoke louder now so all could hear him.

"_Don't you** see** it is the will of God these sinners be sacrificed!_" He shouted, half sobbing. No sooner then that had a crowd of serfs begun to push the monk back into the dungeon. Tristan mentally thanked them, and watched, face still unemotial,as the Woad in Arthur's arms fell unconscious.

The wagons finally ready and Arthur satisfied with the way things had been left, Tristan carried Vrena over to the same carriage that the Woad woman and young boy were placed in. The snow had caught up with them, small flakes, nothing that would be big until they reached the mountains again.

He blanketed Vrena's anemic form, her black curls sprawled in all directions around her face. He brushed them out of the way, then quickly walked over to his horse, mounted it, and awaited Arthur's signal to travel ahead.

He would not get the sleep he had hoped for, not tonight.

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Whoa, god. My chapters seem to be taking longer to write, for some reason. I just spent five hours typing this without stopping.

But then hey, I get rewarded with a nice episode of ER at 10. :P

So do you guys still like it-brings out lighter again and holds it to computer-

III Cari III


	11. Trust

**_SpectralLady_**- Schools can be stupid sometimes xP…thanks for reviewing! It's ok, you can continue to be a silent reader. I don't mind it at all. As long as I know people are enjoying my story, I'll update as much as possible.

**_Op_**- Glad you still like it, and that you're not confused :D

**_Dw_**- It's a good thing you guys understand it, I don't see how it's confusing either…some people just skim ahead and forget to read important parts. Happens a lot here :P

**_Calliann_**- I never noticed that…but you're right, we've never had a bomb threat in the summer before xD…glad you agree with me on the story. And yes, I'm gonna cry when I have to type Dag's death ;-;

**_Amy_**- Thanks for the review, glad you agree :D

**_katemary77_**- I think you've got the story down now, but thanks for telling me that you were confused. And I still think I might make a family tree:P

**_HGandRHrforever_**- Thanks again!

**_Modernprincess_**- Yes, ER does rock! The last episode was depressing, with Kerry and her mother. Poor Kerry ;-;

**_Juju_**- thanks.

Story story…**Oh, and just to make you want to read faster:** Towards the end, there is some interesting yet depressing Tristan/Vrena arguing :3

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**Chapter 11: Trust**

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When she awoke, Vrenaknew thattwo things wrong.

_One_, was that it was still bright outside. Customarily she would wake up in a few minutes or so after fainting, scaring the bejesus out of anyone within a yards distance; thus waking up to the evening mists was not unusual. It was _wrong _because she needed the damn sleep, and these fainting tribulations were preventing that.

_One and a half_, she added as she opened her eyes to see that yet again she was clothed in merely an undershirt, the rest of her attire lying folded in a corner of the wagon.

And _two_, her abdomen felt as hollow as Lancelot's head was empty. She felt light, nauseated, and in dire need of things that would make her stomach feel well again.

Looking up to the top of the wagon, her body was now rocking to and fro, as if on a ship, with every snowy hill they skimmed over. It made her feel even worse, though she knew there was nothing left for her to heave up.

She was about to close her eyes again when the smell of wheat filled her senses, along with a warm feeling next to her. Opening her eyes, Vrena sat up slowly, leaning her back to the thick straw-built wall. She saw that two thick blankets covered the left and right sides, while the front remained open to allow in the light that had decided to come out from behind the clouds.

"_Eat_." Came a woman's voice, smooth and comforting. Looking at the individual who had been kind enough to make sure food had been ready in the first place, she met a pair of beautiful eyes, as bright a blue as the sky- right away remembering the Woad from Marius' dungeon. Vrena cautiously accepted the hefty loaf of bread she had been offered.

"We've been given some cheeses and wines as well. Kind men Arthur and his knights are." Said the beautiful Woad girl, who had hair much like Vrena's. Now having a chance to study the one she had help rescued, she saw that appearance wise, the two were very much comparable. Though this woman's cheek bones retreated higher in her face, and her lips much more full. Had Vrena's hair been a bit straighter, it would have added to the effect.

She took a huge chunk out of the bread, nearly too much for her mouth to handle at first. But after a few seconds of chewing, it passed through her throat fine, and she felt a pit in her stomach become satisfied with the welcomed substance.

While eating, she took notice to the young boy that had huddled himself in the corner across from them to keep warm. He was sheltered with numerous blankets, but a bandaged arm peaked out from under a cover. She also noticed that the one hand of the woman next to her was bruised and red, and when eating her own food and drink, could not bend the fingers.

"Is your hand immobile?" Vrena asked, hoping not to sound too rude. The woman whose name she did not know looked up from consuming her rations, no look of offense planted to her face.

"No, my fingers had been crooked and disproportioned earlier...but Arthur Castius was kind enough to push them back into their rightful joints. My name is Guinevere, what is yours?" Said the lady, misty blue eyes resting on her wine as she picked up the bottle and took a small gulp, then placed it back to the middle of them.

"Vrena." She retorted simply, not typically in a sharing mood. "Out of curiosity, how long have I been asleep?"

"No longer thenathreeor four milestravel. We're planning on stopping once the sun sets." Guinevere answered.

_Not_ the answer Vrena was looking for.

'_Oh, you slept the whole day yesterday! A tired thing you must have been to stay sound asleep till so late in the afternoon._' Would have been an answer she would have embraced with open arms. But no; again she had fainted, and again she had woken up quicker then you could think.

They finished eating their food in silence, both enjoying every second of the wonderful taste.

Guinevere had turned around and adjusted herself towards the opening in the canvas that surrounded them, peering out the front of the wagon as it was pulled by two brawny steeds. Vrena also looked out to see that snow was still among them, but dissipating as they moved forward. A good thing, because she bloody_ hated_ the snow.

She followed the Woads gaze and saw that it landed on Arthur, who was far in front of the caravan. She could not tell whether it was a look of interest or mere curiosity that set itself into Guinevere's eyes, but sensed an attachment. It was not a strong thing yet, but she verified her statement as Arthur turned around with a similar look.

She watched closely as Lancelot, who had been trotting next to his friend, also looked to Guinevere, then to Arthur, and back to Guinevere again. A look of frustration and disappointment crossed his face as he ordered his horse forward, leaving to ride ahead of the caravan.

Vrena watched as Lancelot rode past Tristan, who had been in front of Arthur while this small internal battle between three people was secretly being fought. She could have sworn she saw Tristan roll his eyes before turning his attention back to the path ahead. A smile crossed Vrena's lips at the knight sudden ill-tempered actions of the usually silent scout.

Deciding to leave Guinevere to stare at Arthur's back, she removed the covers that had been folded over her legs. She looked at the bareness of her left leg, seeing that the splint had been removed, and the longwound covered with newly-formed skin. A definite scar, no doubt about that.

Deciding to test her condition, she moved the leg up and down in the air, then bent it a bit. Feeling only a faint amount of soreness, she touched the new mark gently with a finger. She was pleased as only a bit of pain was released, and pressing harder, it did not become unbearable.

"Should you be doing that?" Asked a familiar voice that made Vrena jump, now remembering that she was only wearing a long white undershirt. She quickly pulled the blanket up across her bare legs andgazed up, Tristan looking at her with normal unemotional features. His eyes always seemed to get more readable as she was around him, nonetheless.

However, his face remained the same as Vrena shot her free leg up from under the blanket, out into the cold of the outside world, landing a perfect hit right below the scout's knee.

"I'll do what I want with my wounds, mind you! Now would you be so kind as to deliver me my horse?" She spoke in an angered tone. Though she was not at all angry, more among the lines between embarrassment and...embarrassment.

Tristan impassively turned his horse, trotting away from their wagon.

"A strange way you show your _gratitude_ towards men." Laughed Guinevere as she finally took her gaze from Arthur and back into the wagon.

"He shouldn't have barged in!"

"He was merely checking up on your health, you needn't harm him with words. After all, he was the one who made sure you were in here and safe."

Vrena had no reply to this new information. Tristan had hated her from the minute he discovered that she was part Woad, though she still did not know if he was aware of her Sarmatian background. Why would he care about her well being, after finding out that she had the blood of the enemy?

"Clever men these knights are, for they can tell the difference between an enemy and an ally." Guinevere gave a final response before facing the front of the wagon again, Arthur on her mind.

'_Allies Arthur and Lancelot will not be any longer, should you keep up your gazing_' Vrena wanted to add, but then amended that she would be better off with this Woad warrior on her side. And before she could retort anything, Tristan had thrown open the curtain to the wagon again, Arvin trotting next to him.

Vrena did not know whether she ought to be surprised or not that the scout had done her bidding, and at any cost was at loss for words.

"Do you still yearn to get out of this cramped compartment?" He asked, not looking at her. For a few seconds Vrena was completely silent, and only the wheels of the wagon on the ground and chatting from some of the townsfolk could be heard. It was then that she realized that she was nauseous from being closed inside the walls of the cart, and had not had a breath of fresh air yet.

She found herself smiling.

"Let me get dressed."

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Her sudden irritability caught him off-guard when he went to go check on her, after riding ahead of the caravan to check the status of the Saxon army. There were none in sight so far, so he decided to return early. He would go out again later, once the sun had fallen.

After riding in front of Arthur and Lancelot, he had to stop himself from adding in any remark on how both of them seemed to be turning their heads to gaze at the same Woad girl, whom they had recovered from the dungeon earlier. At one point, Lancelot saw Arthur and the woman gawking at each other (_from his point of view_) and rode off in annoyance. It rarely happened, but when Arthur and Lancelot did argue, they would clash until the other gave up and apologized.

He decided to head back to the wagon to see if Vrena had woken up. But when he pulled back the curtain, she did not notice him as she was examining the long scar on her leg.

Of course, he made her aware of his presence, and in return she gave him a nice jab in the knee. Her brown eyes sent him accusing looks as she demanded for her horse, which he fetched and brought to her. When he returned with the steed, he could not tell if the look on her face was of shock or curiosity, or both. Anyhow, his action seemed to brighten her mood as he waited for her to reassemble the rest of her clothing. Once she had finished, she looked her normal self again- full of energy and allertness.

However, he could not stay. The sun was now falling behind the hills, the path was becoming dark, and the townsfolk yawned with weariness.

"I apologize for my actions today. I have not had a customary amount of sleep in three days." She said with a laugh, tying up the last string on her long black cloak. She would need fresh clothing soon, since the ones she was still wearing had blood stains mounted here and there.

"Then once you are done getting your fresh air, head back into the wagon. You're much more pleasant when you're resting, in any case." He said, still cool and collected. She shot her head up, an aggravated look on her face.

"Well, maybe I'll stay here and keep you company then, how does that sound to your ears?" She shot back.

He decided not to reply for his own safety.

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No reply came from the knight, who still remained straight-faced. By looking at his eyes, she could tell he had also not slept for a good while. His hair looked the same as it always did; loose but braided, uneven but still all shoulder-length. His armor was dirty, aswell as the rest of his attire. Looking at the other knights who were scattered around the caravan, they seemed no different. Vrena could easily compare, she she also had not had time to bathe or wash her clothes. Partly because she had no clothes to change into.

Tearing her gaze away from Tristan, she saw that Arthur had again turned around to glance at Guinevere. Lancelot again turned and let out another frustrated sigh.

"That might turn out ugly." She said to the silent scout, whom she knew had also been watching the actions between the three. Arthur and Lancelot seemed to both have a sort of magnetism towards the Woad.

"While I'm gone, keep them in order for me, if you can handle the task. If someone doesn't, we'll have two dead men by morning." He glanced at her, and she nodded. An easy mission she would make sure not to fail.

Seeing the interesting love triangle reminded her of a song her mother use to sing to them, that she herself had taken the time to learn. Had anyone an instrument with strings, she could have sung it. But not now. She remembered it clearly- _the story of a woman warrior, who had fallen in love with two men, and they both lusted her_.

A tragic ending, anyways. Most stories of love ended catastrophic for some reason. Perhaps it was just simply for the lesson to be more pronounced, or that the lone songwriters who invented them did not believe in successful relationships. Whatever the matter, the tune her mother had taught her about the woman Annaleeze was as addicting as the alcohol men drank in pubs.

"Watch out for _him_ too." Tristan said, breaking her train of thought as he tilted his head towards Marius, who was whispering quietly with two of his mercenaries, far away from everyone else. She never really had liked her uncle too much; he always seemed strict, but friendly. Two things that did not go good mixed- for him, anyways. But seeing this Marius now, they seemed like two different people. She was beginning to loathe this one.

"If he causes any trouble, do not be afraid to kill him off. It'll rid us _all_ the headaches." He added.

"If I remember how to. It has been long since I have lived among people like myself." She said, reminding him that for the past ten years she had lived among Catholics and Christians.

"The only time I have been able to fire an arrow is early in the morning in the forests, and I have never laid hands on a sword." She informed him. He gave her an interested look.

"_What_? Do you think that the Romans of Tirth would let **any** woman near a weapon? I had to hide this bow under my bed so no one would ever take notice of it, not even…" Her voice began to crack at this point, and she did not wish to take that sentence any further.

The knight gazed at her with his cool and collected face and nodded in an understanding way, moving his hawk from his shoulder to his forearm.

"You want to go out again? _Here_-" He said to the bird and lifted his arm higher, the hawk flapping its wings and soaring off into the sky. Gliding with ease, it circled overtop the caravan once, and then flew into the direction of the wall, to which they were headed.

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They both watched as his friend flew into the air, getting a lead ahead of him.

"Be careful. The weather will only get worse as you head out farther." She said softly, looking in front of them at the head of the caravan.

"Should I take advice from a Woad?" He asked, not knowing if he was being serious or something else. She sent him a perplexed look.

"Do you not trust me at all, sir Tristan?" She questioned, slight exasperation in her voice. He took notice that this was the first time she had spoken his name aloud.

"That is not what I said."

"It most definitely is what you said! Do not perjure yourself."

"No lies have Ispoken toyou." His voice became firmer. Was this woman accusing him of finding her insufferable? She may be Woad, yes, but whatever she had going on in her head was complete nonsense.

"Oh, so you do not trust me after all? How much of your detest do you hide from view, Sarmatian knight of Rome?"

As if on cue, a spark lit up in Tristan that he had no felt in years. Pure heated argument he knew he was about to indulge himself into, but this lady was now insulting how he had forcefully been pulled from his home to fight for Arthur. This he would not stay quiet about.

"You condemn me in such ways, half Woad who travels and lives with Romans and Sarmatians." He retorted, raising his voice and loosing some of his composure. A few people had begun listening to them argue now, even a few knights had managed to turn their heads. Tristan and Vrena were paying no attention to them, only to out-witting the other.

"Who travels and lives with Romans and Sarmatians because it was Romans and Sarmatians who killed off her kind!" Vrena shouted, brow furrowed and brown eyes furious. This new fact stunned him, but only for an instant. He had figured before that some incident must have caused her Woad clan to leave her in the hands of Romans, but not something as intense as a massacre. His brain was trying to register something important, but he paid no heed to it.

"Then the hell are you _here_ for?" He said through gritted teeth, even though he knew the answer to his own question. She's here because she is weak and even now remains injured, you oaf.

"You're right." She said, her voice beginning to waver slightly. Was she biting back tears, or fuming with hatred? He almost began to regret arguing with her, but her boot again locked with his leg, this time harder then she had ever kicked him before. This kick may have actually stung a bit, had he not been as strong and use to pain as he was.

"_Why am I here_?" She spat, almost to herself and not him. He felt the eyes of almost all the caravan on them now, and saw that even the Woad from the dungeon was giving him a hurt look, as if she knew how badly both he and Vrena had mentally beaten one another.

Even a few from the front of the caravan, including Arthur and Lancelot, had turned, hearing the intense argument.

He couldn't bear to stay in this position any longer, and rode forward, not even looking at Vrena has he trotted up to Arthur.

"Aye, _someone_ has no experience with women." Lancelot sighed. Tristan shot him an angry look, and when Tristan gave someone an angry looked, it meant that they were about to die, or had broken the man's invisible boundaries. Lancelot quickly turned back around.

"Scout the area. You may go." Arthur said, looking at his knight with a sympathetic look.

He took no time getting away from the caravan.

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Vrena held back the hot tears that were forcing themselves into her eyes. She was a mix of many things: _Fury, pain, sadness_, and _hate_.

_Fury,_ because her heart was beating fast and she could feel her nails digging into her skin, even with the reigns in between them. _Pain_, because her heart was heavy with the regret of arguing with Tristan, whom she had not meant to argue with. _Sadness_ because watching him ride away alone to scout the land made her wish someone would go with him and keep him company. _Hate_, because no matter how much she could try to convince herself that she hated this man, she knew the one that she hated most was herself.

_But honestly_! It was not his business at all to bring up her upbringing in front of so many people. But with the way they had been arguing, the whole caravan was watching her, some turning around now that the usual silent scout had left.

She regretted hiding in the forest near the wall, instead of getting help in the first place.

She regretted bothering them with helping her, saving her life.

She regretted how her heart began to feel heavy and the tears were now falling freely. She quickly pulled up the black hood, letting it shade her eyes, as she tilted her head low to hide her face.

Unfortunately, Lancelot rode off to the side of the caravan and joined her. She wished he would go away, go gaze at Guinevere until his eyes fell out of his head or something. It was bad enough being surrounded by all these people. She wondered where Fulcinia was. Probably wherever Marius was, and she did not wish to confront him right now either.

"You shouldn't be upset." another voice came from behind her, turning out to be Gawain's.

"Aye, he's right. You should be proud. I've never seen Tristan so verbally active. And we've known him for fifteen years!" Lancelot said, trying to cheer her up. Perhaps if this man would stop trying to comfort _her_ and work on his _own_ problems, Arthur would not be glairing at him for being too close to the wagonthat Guinevere was in.

"You're pretty talented if you could get underTristan's skin_ that_ easily." Gawain laughed. But she did not feel comforted, not one bit.

"If another word is spoken in my direction, I mightbringpain toan unlucky individual." Vrena said quietly, so only they could hear. She knew they had now seen the tears that streaked her face as the last of the sunlight reflected on them.

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"_Knights_!" Called Arthur's voice from the head of the Caravan. The five made their way up to the front, swerving around people and carriages. Vrena was now at the rear of the procession, hiding behind another large wagon.

"I think it is best that we do not speak with the lady Vrena, or Tristan for that matter, once he returns." Arthur suggested. It was now dark, and a few people were lighting torches. They would have to make camp soon.

"For what reason? The lady seems mighty upset, and who knows what we'll have to live through once Tristan returns. I've never seen him angry with a woman before." Lancelot replied.

"Did you not hear what they were arguing about?" Galahad interrupted, taking sides with Arthur.

"Of course I did, I was only a few yards away. So what if the girl is half Woad, she has been good to us for rescuing her." Lancelot spoke back, brow furrowed.

"Did you not pay notice to how she spoke about her home?" Arthur questioned his friend.

"I heard her. But it makes no difference."

"_It makes all the difference_!" Galahad yelled back.

"Lower 'yer voices, the lot of you." Bors said calmly, looking back to the people behind them.

"How so?" Gawain asked Galahad.

Arthur and Galahad both sent each other looks. Galahad was not willing to speak of it, but Arthur was.

"She said that her home when she was a child had been attacked by Romans and Sarmatians from our army. Can any of you remember her telling you how long she had lived away from Woads?" Arthur asked all of them, only Galahad already knew the answer. The other knights had probably not paid enough attention, and Tristan they were unsure of.

"About ten, twelve years." Dagonett answered for the others.

"And how old does she look?"

"Halfway through her twenties, I presume. Though she looks younger." Lancelot said with a suggestive smile on his face, despite the situation.

"Do the counting, Lancelot. I know all of you remember our first mission with the Roman army as knights. We were all in the same regiment. Put two and two together." Galahad said solemnly, looking into nothingness.

Lancelot's face became strangely similar.

"Oh."

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Every time she would wipe away the salty water with the sleeve of her cloak, more would start to fall. Eventually she gave up and just let herself sob uncontrollably.

Why the hell was she so upset over what that _arrogant_ knight had said? Even back when Vejha would now and then question their blood, it did not upset her. But when he had yelled at her, his soft calm eyes penetrating, it made her wish she had stayed in Tirth. Allow herself to be burned and tortured. It would be less painful then these feelings that were stabbing at her.

All because of _him._

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Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. It was kind of difficult writing, trying to make Tristan as less OOC as possible ;-;…did I do a good job? Do I still suck? Feel free to tell me.

III Cari III


	12. Songs and Secrets

**_Katemary77_**- I plan on lots more angst and drama in the future for Vrena and Tristan. :smiles cunningly:

**_SpectralLady_**- Drop a review whenever you feel like it - doesn't bother me at all. Tristan might cheer her up in the next chapter :P

**_Calliann_**- Yea, you've got about two more chapters or so until I have to kill off Dag ;-; xD that would be cool. As a way of apologizing, Tristan says "You can kick me if it makes you feel any better."

**_HGandRHrforever_**- Ah, I'm not sure if I liked the twist at the end. I'm still debating over it :P

**_Sarah_**- It's ok, you don't have to review for every chapter! xD…

**_Dw_**- Psh, Galahad is not impulsive. In fact, he's probably the most normal of all the knights xD…and he seems like a person who would take into consideration someone's feelings.

**_Op_**- Dude :P

**_Lininlix_**- Rocks like…kicks arse rocks? Or rocks like…pointless as a rock?

**_Lenao_**- Welcome to the story :D

**_ElvenStar5_**- Yea. Actually, the typos aren't my fault, you can blame this site for those. See below for details :P…

**_Modernprincess_**- I think I'm going to wait to get to the knight's reactions on the topic of Vrena later next chapter. I'm still planning out the individual responses. And did you happen to watch the previews for the next episode of ER? I was too tired and went to bed before I could see it :O

I-I-I-I-I-I

**NOTE TO ALL READERS**: I've gone back and read a few of my chapters, and have decided to address my spacebar problem. You see, it isn't my spacebar, it's actually ff net to blame for making my work seem crappier then it already is xD…if I really _had_ missed the space bar, Microsoft Word would have caught it instantly. Unfortunately, when I use the preview tool to do the italics and bolding stuff for each chapter, I use the editor. Which, for some reason can mess up spaces when you save. I say we send the admins spam until they fix that shit, yo :O

I-I-I-I-I-I

Oh, before I begin this chapter, I would also like to take a little survey for the story. So all of you readers, be prepared to give an answer! All of you get a say in this!

**_First question:_** Should I , in later chapters, include some slight PG13 content for a Tristan/Vrena scene? You know, like…yea, that xD…believe it or not, I'm actually pretty good with those scenes…

**_Second question:_** how long does it take to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop?

Yea, yea, I know, I'll shut up and type the story now…

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**Chapter 12- Songs and Secrets**

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No one else had come to bother her as they set up camp for the night. Fulcinia had tried to get away from Marius once, but he was keeping her by him at all times. Something was wrong with that man, she could tell now.

The little boy from the wagon, whose name she had learned was Lucan, was already sound asleep. Dagonett's things were next to him, and most of the townsfolk had begun to light fires here and there for people to sit around. Vrena did not join them.

She watched as Lancelot was gawking at Guinevere, who was being bathed inside a tent nearby. Good thing Arthur was nowhere to be seen. Only after Guinevere had finished being cleansed did he emerge from the woods.

Over the past while, she had calmed down a bit, and her crying had ceased. But her eyes were red and puffy, plus she was irritable.

A bit of anxiousness fueled her mind as she saw a little girl running to her mother, carrying an instrument that she recognized to be acoustic. She could play the strings simultaneously, she knew. It was the way she had been taught. She smiled for the first time that nigh as the little girl tried to play a song, but kept missing notes.

"Before you play a song, child, you have to know the chords." Vrena spoke to the child in an amused tone. Her voice was still a bit dry and dim, cracking here and there, but she paid no attention to it.

The little girl looked up to her, along with many of the folk around her. It had been a long while she had been sitting on the log. She saw Galahad and Gawain turn around from unpacking their things, and Guinevere sat down near her, wrapped in a sapphire blanket. Vrena took notice that Arthur and Lancelot both had followed her over, sitting on the ground nearby.

Perhaps it was time to let out her tension? Sing the story of Annaleeze. It seemed suitable.

"Chords? How do they go?" The little girl asked, gazing intently at her instrument.

"'ere, let me see." Vrena said and held out her hand. The little girl looked up, and excitedly handed out the neck of the banjo-like contraption, which Vrena took gently and placed it onto her lap. It was well carved, fine wood with fine strings of wire. A nice instrument indeed.

"A Chord is simple. You can mix and match once you learn the basics. You just pick a few notes that fit together, like these-" Vrena explained, and then plucked five different notes on each different string, one after the other, using a different finger for each.

"Then, you play them together like this." She finished as she kepteach finger on its designated string, and swiped her hand down them,whilst a beautiful sound emerged- the notes she had picked merged into the other elegantly.

She still had her talent. The little child's face lit up. At least she was doing some good by staying here, teaching a child to play an instrument.

But, of course, her actions again caught up with her. A few more children came over, listening to Vrena play one chord after another, each with its own melodic resonance.

Before she knew it, she had about all the children from the town surrounding her. And before she could stand up and leave, the requests were pouring in from every direction.

You see, she can sing and play. But does Vrena like to do it in front of crowds? _No_, not at all.

"Sing!" "Play _more_!" "Please?" "A song!" "_Please!_" "Just one!" "We won't talk!" "_Please_ sing!"

Vrena looked around, slightly panicking. She was cornered.

"Go ahead, Vrena." Guinevere encouraged her. She saw Guinevere look to where Arthur and Lancelot were, look back to Vrena, nudge her head in their direction again, and wink. Now, she might be mistaken, but was this lady suggesting that she sing a song about lovers? Or an even better guess, two men falling for one woman?

Vrena let the corner of her mouth creak to the side a little to form an almost invisible smile.

"You know, maybe I will." Vrena replied. A few of the children cheered and then began to hush one another. A nervous blush appeared on her face, and she was thankful for her large hood. Her eyes could barely be seen.

As long as she closed them and made no eye contact, she was sure she would be fine. '_Just pretend no one is there_', she thought to herself, and took a few deep breaths; adjusting her eyes to the darkness and putting her fingers on the fingerboard. It was time to test her memory.

The song of Annaleeze began with a low tone, and then slowly progressed throughout the song. The composition was not Celtic, nor traditional Irish folk. Instead, it was a perfect blend of both, which gave the song a natural unique feeling.

After the first solo verse with the strings, she opened her mouth to sing. During the song, the hardest parts were when she would have to force her voice an octave higher. She could do it, yes, but it was a royal pain in the arse. She quickly adjusted her voice to a low tone, soothing and melodic.

_"Haze gathered resting on one tor, young Annaleeze was born_

_In sallow gowns she'd prance free ground, throughout the palace lore_

_Strong ever be her heart and fight, true callings may yonder end_

_Two hearts imprisoned on that day, she joined the braver men_

_Flowing stream today they say, will cleanse away the red_

_So story state fair Annaleeze had better been off dead"_

She allowed her voice to trail to a higher octave, but not by very much. She would need space to travel throughout the rest of the song. She added in a new sound to the notes, which brought out an Irish-like theme.

_"Fancy steal her open heart, the bemused Anna ran_

_Fight battles and swing sword she might, but dare not love two men._

_Dreary time passed blew the winds, she clashed in many lands_

_Returning to her native land, Anna she dreamed the day._

_Flowing stream today they say, will cleanse away the red_

_So story state fair Annaleeze had better been off dead."_

She allowed another short, vibrant solo for her fingers to take care of as she internally remembered the change in key for the next verse, which would make it bright, but at the same time adventurous and downhearted.

_"Two men, how goodly bound they were, fine ties a long years coming_

_Love twist and severed fate's tight strings, as Annaleeze came running_

_Stinging bite of jealous thorns, upon the twig they rest_

_Though never can they reach the rose, stuck only to the stem._

_Flowing stream today they say, will cleanse away the red_

_So story state fair Annaleeze had better been off dead."_

A calmer tune she began to play, and softer, so that when she reached her highest pitch, she would actually be heard. She was now singing the highest she could ascend, which wasn't all that high.

_"Fight they did for Anna's hand, waged fights noble and grand_

_Gloom and aching her poor heart laid, seams shredded stitched by hand_

_Dare say she loved them both she knew, death be upon one this day_

_And so she pierced her own good heart, and plunged into the bay_

_Oh jealousy love's lusting brings, to burn the hearts tight bound_

_Tall tales and truths ones thoughts may tell, but future holds more ground_

_Flowing stream today they say, will cleanse away the red_

_So story state fair Annaleeze had better been off dead."_

She held her last word for a while, the high pitch mixing beautifully as each finger stopped slowly, one after the other, until she was only playing the Irish melody. Then lightly she released the last chord that ended the song, and was rewarded with silence.

But before she knew it, there was a loud eruption from behind and in front of her, some clapping, some whistling, and a few children giggling, running around to find their parents. She saw that Lancelot and Arthur were anything but smiling, though they did clap. Guinevere had a pleased look on her face, and mouthed a '_thank you_'.

"It's been too long since my ears have heard how you sing, child." Came her aunt Fulcinia's voice, sitting next to her on the log.

"It has been too long since I've played, and you** know** I hate an audience." Vrena said as she handed the instrument back to its owner, the little girl still excited and happy. Vrena wished she could look like that again.

"_You never told me what happened_." Fulcinia spoke in a low hush, looking calmly into Vrena's eyes.

"Yes, let us walk." Vrena said, standing up. She shook her cloak a bit to get some of the chipped wood from the log off, then her and Fulcinia advanced towards the woods, where no fire light could be seen.

Vrena took a deep breath, as her aunt waited patiently without a word. _How was she supposed to explain that her sister had gone mad?_ That she had almost died, had the knights not rescued her? After thinking for a few seconds, she decided to put it plain and simple.

"Vejha tried to kill me."

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It was now late into the night, the moon was high. Soon it would set and the sun would begin to rise, and he would have to head back to the caravan. But until then, Tristan was left riding with nothing but himself and his thoughts.

After thinking about it for a while, a memory from fifteen years ago replayed itself in his head, reviving itself from the spot in which it had been buried deep. That was what he had done with most of his unanswered questions, thoughts and such. Kill them and bury them, so only the grave stone remained.

But now he remembered it clearly since Vrena had brought it up during their argument.

"_Who travels and lives with Romans and Sarmatians because it was Romans and Sarmatians who killed off her kind!_"

Her words had rung in his head for quite some time now, even long after he had left. So many knights and soldiers knew the tale of the defenseless Woad village, attacked fifteen years ago by Romans and new Sarmatian recruits, which he had been one of. He remembered it distinctly, firing his arrow to the top of the hill, watching it penetrate the skull of a Woad. The two others he had seen up there had disappeared, along with the horses they were escaping with.

That had been Vrena's village; it didn't take much to figure it out now. The rest was complete common sense. The white foal upon the mount was Arvin. Vrena and her sibling had been behind the hill at the time, and had escaped the bloodbath. Had they not have escaped…she would have been dead at that early age.

An interesting way your past seems to catch up to you.

When he had fought with her, he had never been so outspoken and ill-mannered in his fifteen years of knighthood. Always had he kept to himself, never told anyone about anything, or argued with anyone. Only a few times had he been in a dispute, he would only say so much, and then ignore the problem. But some trait about her forced something out of him.

A cry of a bird could be heard overhead, and a dark figure loomed in circled above him. Tristan whistled and held out his arm, the hawk glided down and placed itself on its usual spot, talons lightly clutching his arm.

For a few seconds, he just sat there on his steed, the bird perched on him, lost in his own thoughts. Nothing had ever preoccupied his mind like this before. He blinked once and brushed a few loose strands of hair from his face.

"Well, she is beautiful." He admitted to the hawk. Her face was memorable indeed; once you've seen it for the first time, it looms in your head. He was sure even Lancelot would agree with him, but there was no way he was going to speakwith Lancelot on this matter. He would keep it to himself, until he could tell apart what about her kept him as attached as he was.

He would have to return early morning, no matter how much he dreaded the thought. He had never apologized to anyone in his life, because never had he done a thing that would compel him to.

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"I…I_ don't_- How could such a thing have _happened_?" Fulcinia stuttered, trying to read between the lines of everything Vrena had told her. How Vejha had convinced the town of Tirth to think she was a witch, and nearly got her executed.

"Something pushed her over the edge, I presume," Vrena said with a deep sigh, knowing that her aunt was not taking this as well as she had hoped. Fulcinia was a quiet, frail woman, who stood up for what she thought was right- unless Marius told her not to.

"It's _my_ fault…_I _should have told both of you earlier about what happened to your town, I-"

"It's **not** your fault." Vrena cut her off, putting her hands onto her aunt's shoulders to calm her down.

"Vejha hates me because I look more Sarmatian then Woad. That is _not_ your fault. If anything, it is mine." Vrena spoke softly, Fulcinia now looking calmer then before, taking some deep breaths to calm herself.

"I promised Naeda that I would not tell you…but how did Vejha discover it? That Sarmatians were at the massacre? It makes no sense." Her aunt said, confused with everything she had been told.

"I don't care how Vejha found out, all I know is that she wants me dead. And I tell you now, aunt, should she try again, I will kill her myself." Vrena said seriously. It was true, too. Not once had she killed a man, it was sad that her own sister would be her first. It scared her to think of Vejha's madness, clawing at her mind. She wanted to talk to Fulcinia about Tristan, but the topic of Vejha was still pounding in their heads.

"You need rest. We both do. Let us head back to the camp." Fulcinia suggested, but Vrena grabbed her aunt's arm to prevent her from moving. She still had one more question.

"What has happened to Marius, Flucy? Tell me." Vrena asked. Fulcinia gave her a quizzical look, hesitation easily detectable in her eyes. If her aunt was in danger, she wanted to know about it. Fulcinia looked to the ground, and then looked back up to her niece again.

"I…it…it started five years ago." The elderly woman spoke quietly, finally catching her words.

"I…I don't know how it happened. But ever since, he has cared less about me, less about his son, and more about wealth and power. He does not like to be proven wrong, let alone be taken advantage of. And…he has indeed become dangerous. When I look at him, I no longer see my husband, but some _devil_ in disguise. You did not hear this from me." Fulcinia spoke, and Vrena let go of the woman's wrist. She watched as her aunt walked away, the mix of snow and leaves crunching beneath her.

Feeling better mentally after speaking to someone about her sister, at was as if a huge burden had been lifted from her shoulders…but now the ones that were not as heavy before began to weigh her down.

She wished for the _thousandth_ time that she had not argued with Tristan.

Hearing footsteps behind her, Vrena turned around quickly to see Guinevere, wearing a pale blue dress covered by a red cloak much like the one Vrena was wearing. She looked a bit surprised to see Vrena out here to late into the night, but advanced forward anyway.

"Should you not be asleep?" she asked Vrena from a distance. There was a great deal of pale moonlight seeping through the trees now, and the earth seemed to illuminate like silver.

"My body yearns to, but my mind will not allow me…" Vrena answered, turning to face Guinevere. "What about you?"

"I guess I can say the same for myself. I'm meeting someone, actually." Said the woman, walking over to stand next to Vrena.

"Is it the Sarmatian scout whom is troubling your mind, or something else?" Guinevere asked suggestively, causing Vrena to blush, her cheeks lighting up like flames. Of course, it was true indeed that thoughts of Tristan was keeping her awake, but did it mean anything among the lines this lady was hinting towards?

"It is not like that."

"Oh, so you admit he is on your mind?"

"It's _not_ like_ that_." Vrena repeated, causing Guinevere to giggle lightly. She had no feelings towards Tristan besides those of friendship. Or did she? No, do not think that way. The man despises every fiber of my being; it would not be probable anyways. Just because seeing him was exciting and talking with him led to odd situations, did _not_ mean that they had any internal bindings.

"I think you're being dishonest to yourself."

"I think I would_ know_ if I was being dishonest with myself, of all people."

"It is not impossible, you know."

"But it is."

"Oh, so you_ are_ in denial?"

Vrena was clutching her fists right about now. _She had no feelings for this man! That was it, end of story!_ She would have yelled that, but who knew if someone would overhear them. Guinevere sighed and continued.

"Then what thoughts are you having about him, exactly?"

Vrena froze. Yes, she had to think about this question. There were many things she thought whenever Tristan was near. How strong he was, how mysterious his eyes were when he looked at you, how his emotions were unpredictable, how he was so skilled with the bow, how handsome his voice was, how wonderful it would feel to be held in his arms.

In a few seconds, Vrena's eyes widened and her mouth gaped open as if she had just seen the living dead. Guinevere took one look at her and smiled deviously, success written all over her face.

'_Oh, shit._'

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:P I liked the way I ended that. Ending chapters with two or three words that quickly express the feelings of the character being examined is fun stuff :3

Hope you guys liked this, as short as it is...please attemt to answer the questions I posted before the story oo

III Cari III


	13. Blue Paint

**_TO ALL:_** For those who did not receive my e-mail because I could not find your address, I warned as many people as I could that my motherboard messed up, and it took a while for my dad to fix it. Thus I could not get on to write at ALL, which depressed the crap out of me. Sorry if it took so long! ;-;

**_ALSO, to those who were wondering_**- yes, I did write that song in the last chapter. Took me a whole day to even THINK of xD…

**_Calliann-_** The song I wrote myself, did you like it:P

**_Dw-_** Ah, English is your second language? What's your first?

**_Op-_** Dude, thanks xD

**_Etraya-_** I think we can all compare :3

**_Charlie-_** Hmm…I'm not sure if it will be a real smexy scene cough…but if everyone else agrees that it would go with the story, maybe I can add in some…snippets of things XD…oh, and do feel free to give me whatever ideas you think would brighten up the story. I accept all suggestions!

**_Modernprincess-_** Yep, I wrote the song :P Glad you liked it. Wow…I can't wait until tonight then. ER will be pretty interesting.

**_SpectralLady-_** Yea, I haven't had a tootsie pop in such a long time…we just don't buy them anymore for some reason.

**_Babak-_** Maybe she will sing a song for Tristan (_and Tristan **only**_) later :3 -insert evil grin-

**_elvenstar5-_** Glad you liked the ending :D

**_booya-_** xD…the last time I had a tootsie pop, I remember always biting them just to get to the chocolate.

**_Nakeevka-_** Wow, French? Do you use the yahoo babble fish translator, or do you read English?

**_k9t-_** Love the emotional trauma :P

**_OnceUponaDecemeber31-_** xD ok, ok.

_Story story…_

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**Chapter 13- Blue Paint**

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Minutes seemed to fly by like seconds, each time he swung his sword into flesh.

No doubt he should have expected this: Saxons _may_ be aggressive brutes with their minds only on killing whatever they could get their hands on, but they still had enough brains to send out scouts of their own.

So as Tristan had been heading east to check further into their army, indeed did he happen to come across a few blood-thirsty Saxon savages, whom he would have gladly avoided if given the chance. Other then that, he was pleased to let out his stresses on something- these four men attacked him at a good time.

It wasn't exactly pleasure he felt in his mind after killing. It was hard for even him to explain, how he could always remain so calm when fighting, as if it was the most common thing in the world.

For some, it was about _confidence_. When you fought and won, it allowed you to believe that you were _better_ then your opponent. But with Tristan…_no_. It was something entirely different. It was as if it was what he had been born to do, to end lives that did not deserve to exist in the first place.

His sword pierced the middle of the next Saxon's chest, and retrieving his sword from the body covered in blood, did not pay heed to a sharp pain that erupted into his shoulder, or the other that came a split second after it.

He turned to the other two creatures as they ran forward, unsheathing their Saxon swords; and no sooner had they reached him did he pierce the first man's gut, avoiding the blade that carelessly grazed his arm, digging into his skin. _But that did not matter right now_.

Slicing the head clear off the last Saxon scout's shoulders, he returned his sword, dripping with blood, to its scabbard on his horse. Then took a look at two arrows sticking out of his shoulder. They were not deep by any means, nothing that couldn't be healed later.

Ripping both arrows out at once, he grimaced slightly as blood came pouring out of the open wounds, red seeping into the forest-green sleeve of his tunic. More also came from the sword cut on his upper-arm, but that was not as serious.

None the less, the wounds were not as painful as they should be. The sun began to rise over the icy hills, and the trees began to glimmer on the frozen leaves. Picking up one of the dead Saxon's crossbows from the ground, he mounted his horse and rode off.

He would tend to these wounds himself once he made it back to the caravan.

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She watched as the trees began to shine a light brown with the newly rising sun, and took in a breath of the fresh air. Not that it helped her mood at all. The night had been tough and long, and the events replayed themselves in her head.

She remembered feeling scared, scared and afraid._ But for some reason, Guinevere seemed the exact opposite. The woman was no doubt smiling, after convincing Vrena that she fancied Tristan more then your average 'fancy'. Indeed he was a man of mystery, and her heart began to flutter when he was mentioned or seen._

_She was almost in a state of panic, but out of the blue, Arthur came from the trees that lead to the camp. He gave the two concerned looks, turning his head to look at both of them at least twice. Then, looking to something behind them, his eyes widened and he quickly drew Excalibur. Vrena spun around to see none other the Merlin himself, who had silently appeared from nowhere._

_Leader of the Woads and Blue Ghosts, she had often heard. A dark magician, they said, though she was not sure to believe it. All she really knew is that her mother had praised his man._

_"You betrayed me!" Arthur shouted at Guinevere, looking furious. Vrena just stood where she was near Guinevere, not knowing what to do. If anything, this was not her problem. She was still thinking too much about the scout whom she had kicked so many times._

_"He means you no harm." Guinevere coaxed him in a calm voice. Then, the voice of the Merlin spoke, causing her to jump._

_"Peace between us this night, Arthur Castius," Said the old man, painted in blue and clothed in many strange articles of animal skin, wielding his large staff that could have touched the sky._

_"So Rome is leaving. The Saxons have come. The world we have known and fought for is ending. Now, we must make a new world." He finished._

_"Your world, Merlin. Not mine. I shall be in Rome." Arthur retorted. Vrena felt her breath nearly leave her as the Merlin's eyes scanned the people standing before him. When they rested on her, only for a second, she could have sworn he had looked right through her like a translucent light._

_"Thank peace the Saxon will come to Rome." He finally said, taking his gaze from Vrena and back to Arthur._

_"My knights trust me not to **betray** them to their enemy." Arthur argued._

_"**Rome** was my enemy. Not Arthur. We have no fight between us."_

_"You tell that to the knights you killed before my eyes! Whose bones are buried in this earth!"_

_"We have all lost brothers."_

_"**You know nothing of the loss I speak**! Shall I help you remember? An attack on a village. The screams of an innocent woman." Arthur began to remind the elder. She did not know what Arthur found so evil about him, because to her he seemed nothing but a wise old man. Arthur must have had some event in his childhood that caused his hatred to stir._

_"I feel the heat of that fire on my face even now." Arthur growled, though his sword was again resting at his side. At least he knew that the Merlin only meant to come in peace._

_"I did not wish her dead. She was of our blood. As are you." Merlin spoke serenely. Vrena thought of this for a second, but only a second. Arthur had Woad blood? That indeed explained his bright eyes, though it was also a Roman trait, who knew._

_"My men are strong but have need of a true leader. They believe you can do anything. To defeat the Saxons, we need a master of war. There was more then one reason for which we left you alive in the forest." Said Merlin, and Vrena shrunk back as the old man sent her a quick glance. But Arthur had begun to walk away._

_"That sword you carry is made of iron from this earth, forged in the fires of Britain. It was love of your mother that freed the sword, not hatred of me. Love, Arthur." Heeded the Merlin to the departing man, who looked once at Excalibur, then continued to walk away._

_After Arthur was gone from sight, both Guinevere and Merlin turned to face Vrena. If there was one thing she hated more then failing to educate Tristan on the subject of manners when it came to women, it was when she attracted more attention then she wanted. For instance, in situations like these._

_"My lord Merlin, this is Vrena, the daughter of Saelia." Guinevere spoke, and Vrena's heart began to pound at the sound of her mother's name, which she had not heard in years. If the Merlin had known her mother, indeed he would also know that she was half Sarmatian. She did not know if to him, that meant good or evil._

_"Ah, I should have known…indeed I recognized her in you the moment I set my gaze in your direction, but I did not know what to make of it." He said to Vrena in a calm, almost grandparent-like tone. And he was smiling, which meant that she would be dead in the next few seconds, or he was truly glad to see her?_

_"I knew that the two daughters of Saelia had escaped the massacre all those many years ago, but had yet to see proof. You have your father's eyes, child." His smile faded, as if reminiscing something._

_"Did you know my father?" Vrena asked curiously. Never had she known anything about her father, only that had had been Sarmatian. Nothing about how her and her sister came to be, and what became of him._

_"Ah, yes, yes…I have to say, you look more like him then your mother. Your hair as dark as your mother's, yes, but your hair flows freely like a wave cast from the ocean, not such as Vejha's, whose is strait with the blood of the picts running through her veins…no doubt she is the spitting image of Saelia." He said. Vrena frowned._

_"Do you not know of my sister's state?" She shook her head, remembering the scars she still bore on her body._

_"I am, in fact, aware of your sister's well being." Said the Merlin. "And I am deeply sorry for the troubles that you have faced, for you did not deserve them. But, had your sister not driven you thither, where would your heart be now?" He spoke, grinning knowingly._

_If Vejha had never tried to kill her, and she had never ran off…she would have never met the knights. Including Tristan._

_"But what does this mean?" Vrena spoke her thoughts out loud. "Should I run back and thank her for making my life a living hell? But then…" Her voice trailed from furious to perplexed, questioning to curious._

_"Fate has interesting ways of leading you through life." Merlin mumbled quietly as he headed back towards the trees._

_"Wait!" Vrena shouted. She had so many questions, all unanswered. He could not just leave her so!_

_"We will see each other soon, child." Said his voice, trailing off into the distant thick woodland. Abandoning hope to run after him and demand answers, she stood next to Guinevere and watched him disappear, almost like mist, into the green and brown of the forests._

The sun rose further now as she recalled the memory of not many hours ago, and felt soothing against the cold, retreating winds of the night; its heat reflected off her body, warming it only a bit. She looked down to her long, worn and blood-dirty tan skirts. Her oversized matching undershirt was even dirty now; she knew that she refused to spend any more time in these clothes.

It was still early morning, and Fulcinia was still sound asleep. But did Vrena need permission to borrow clothes when they were desperately needed? Indeed no.

She made her way over to one of the storage wagons, and took a peep inside. Lucky her, it did not take long to find some of the dresses her aunt had carelessly thrown on top one of Marius' chests. She shuffled through them, seeing none that suited her tastes, when a voice from behind made her jump and slam her head onto the top of the wagon.

"Do you need clothes?" Came the voice of Guinevere, looking as tired as she herself was. Neither of them had gotten much sleep from the night before, evidently enough.

Sitting down Fulcinia's frilled dresses and gowns; she answered a simple "_yes_", and jumped out of the wagon's entrance. Guinevere, still clothed in the same blue cloths from earlier, was holding out a green one similar, except thefabric was a fine wool, thick yet thin- while Guinevere's was as thin as parchment. How the woman survived in this weather, she would never know.

"Wear this. Both of these were given to me by one of the townsfolk who claimed to be an excellent knitter and did not mind giving them up." Smiled the woman, in which Vrena returned the grin.

"Thank you, I will try and fitit on." Vrena said with respect, and filed herself back into the storage wagon, allowing the curtain to fall over the entrance. There was just enough room to change.

Though there was no mirror, she examined herself from her eye's view.

The cloth was indeed comfortable, but the sleeves became loose and dangled at her elbows, leaving her scarred forearms available for everyone to gaze at. Many of her bruises had also not disappeared from that dreadful beating.

A dark, forest-green sash held up a plain, yet beautiful green skirt; she was pleased when it covered up all her legs, leaving only her boots to show, which clashed with the outfit nonetheless. The upper part of the dress was elegant, one which you would imagine seeing worn by a fairy-tale priestess or angel, something of the sort. It was the same fabric as the skirt, and hung tight to the ends of her shoulders.

The tightness of the fabric at the top prevented it from slipping, thank god. It indeed went right across her shoulders, leaving everything above it bare. And there were not many frills or excess decorations, which she was again thankful for.

It was colder then before, so she decided to stick one of Fulcinia's underskirts beneath the green one for extra warmth, and flung her cloak over her shoulders, but did not insert her arms into the long sleeves. For now she would simply keep it over her shoulders as a blanket.

She stepped out of the Wagon, the sun gleaming into her eyes, causing her to shrink back a bit. But she turned to face Guinevere, who seemed pleased with Vrena's new look.

"Now, come with me." Commanded the woman. Vrena had no reason to protest wandering off, except that everyone would wake soon and they would have to hurry and depart. But that would not be a good enough excuse for the Woad warrior.

"I've been waiting for this to bloody heat up. Thanks to the chill in the air, it took longer then I expected." Explained Guinevere as they neared a kettle over a burning fire. The sunset began to shade everything in pinks, reds, and oranges; amazingly beautiful. Guinevere removed the kettle from the wooden stand supporting it from left and right, and walked away, gesturing Vrena to follow.

Without a word, nearly in the middle of the campsite where anyone could see them, she forced Vrena to sit on the ground, and then placed a towel made of thick wool overtop her shoulders. Next to her was a large dish of water, which Guinevere held up with both hands after forcing Vrena to bend forward andallow herlong locks dangle in front of her, as if she were about to wash her hair. '_Aye, so that's what this is…_' Vrena thought.

"Brace yourself." Guinevere warned and dumped the entire bowl of freezing water over her bent head. Vrena shrieked from the shock of the cold water and heard some shuffling coming from some sleeping folk near them. She felt a bit of the wetness drip down the front of her dress, but she was shivering now and didn't care at all were the water went.

"'s bloody _c-cold_!" Vrena shook with chill now, though the rest of her body was warm from her cloak, her head felt like it had been dumped into a bucket of ice.

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"I can _imagine_. Stay _still_!" Guinevere directed the woman whose hair was now dark and dripping, head soaked to the scalp, no doubt. But the towel had ceased the water from going everywhere else, good thing, because that dress suited her well. Green was indeed a matching color for this woman.

She reached over to the bowl at her side, in which she had mixed many things to clean Vrena's hair. _Not much honey, many herbs, warm water, a few cleaning substances that could be found in plants around the woods, and even a bit of alcohol to get some of the dried blood off the hair_. Over all, it had become a thick, cream-like formula, and felt like a soft balm on the hands.

Guinevere dipped her hands into the bowl and picked up as much of the mixture as she could, but eventually gave up on that, and bluntly picked up the whole bowl and allowed it to pour onto Vrena's bent head, sopping down the long dark locks.

Pleased, she allowed her fingers to massage in themixture until the girls wet hair had blended with it; it began to smell like chamomile, such as the kind she had added. _Good_.

In a way, she was doing this out of pity for Vrena. Indeed, only as the night was young, she had forced her to realize her feeling for the fierce, yet silent, unemotional Sarmatian knight named Tristan. Guinevere had seen it in both their eyes when she first saw them speaking together, both exploring the other without even realizing it.

Earlier when she had spoken with Arthur, he had told her that if anything, he and his men should feel ashamed that she is even _kind_ to them- for they had been at the massacre that killed her Woad family. Guinevere at that time had been the same age as Vrena, but even so remembered going with the Merlin and other Woads, to help bury the bodies of their dead kin…

_She swerved her way around the corpses, helping as one by one they were lifted and placed over by the hill, were the village they fought to defend had been destroyed. Her eyes glanced to the man who was more of a father then a mentor, no matter his age. Merlin was over farther towards the forest, glancing down at the body of a dead woman, sorrow in his eyes._

_She ran over to join him, her small adolescent legs not as quick as some of the other warriors, but would be so over time. Looking down to the limp corpse the Merlin was stairing at, she examined it. Beautiful, she thought. This woman was beautiful enough to be the goddess they worshiped, the loving mother, and for a moment felt as if she was looking at a saint._

_But her eyes drifted down to see the many stabbings overthe body, where swords had been pierced and dug into the flesh, blood splattered everywhere. This was no saint at all, but an honorable Woad who had died fighting for her people, as they all did._

_"There is no sign of the children my lord, there were not many here in the village after all. Only one has been found dead, andit does not belong to her." Reported a Blue ghost speaking in the native tongue, whom had run over to the Merlin. The old man nodded solemnly, and then looked back to the corpse of the woman. Looking at her, Guinevere guesses that she was in her early thirties…some lines on the bloodied face proved that._

_"Who is she, lord Merlin?" Guinevere asked, not wanting to intrude, but felt too curious to keep her thoughts hidden. The Merlin merely smiled a sad smile._

_"Saelia was her name, young one. She was cast out of our dwelling in the woods to live here with other people like us many years ago to bear her children, and never returned. A wonderful fighter, she killed off many Saxons and Romans as a young sprite such as yourself." The old man rambled. Guinevere stared intently. This woman was special._

_"Is that not all that makes her important, my lord?" She asked._

_"Some bold questions you ask, but the answer is yes. This dead one you see here is my daughter. The other men tell me that no trace of her children have been found as of yet, but there are horse tracks heading east, just beyond the tor over there, planted in the mud…" He said and pointed his staff into the direction of the large hill that overlooked the village._

_"Perhaps they got away, then." She said sadly. She indeed hopped that the Merlin's grandchildren had made it to safety and were in a warm bed somewhere. But they had no way of tracking them now. Guinevere looked again to the dead Woad woman. Black gossamer hair, strait like the faerie folk, whom her bloodline must trace back too._

_"Whom may I ask gave her children? Was it really bad enough to send her to this place for so long?" Guinevere asked, though now felt slightly cruel for intruding. But Merlin answered anyways._

_"She married a man whose people brought on her death." He said, picking out an arrow from the dead woman's lower leg- she immediately recognized it. An arrow crafted by a Sarmatian, for she knew of their handicraft well._

_A Woad bore children that had half Sarmatian blood? It seemed odd at first, butmaybe they had been in love. Not wanting to be a bother to the Merlin any more, she nodded and walked away._

Indeed what the Merlin had spoken of earlier was true. "_Fate has interesting ways of leading you through life_," She recalled. Indeed it did. She was now washing the hair of the daughter of that poor dead woman caked in blood and wounds, and the interest in men must have been passed down.

She wondered what Vrena's mother would think if she knew that her daughter was also falling for a Sarmatian man.

Vrena was now shivering, and Lancelot had woken up to the left of them, a perplexed and tired look on his features. Picking up the kettle of hot water, which was now only as warm as it needed to be, she poured it gently over Vrena's hair, washing out the mixture she had rubbed in. The hot scent of Chamomile and herbs filled the air, and a few around them sat up from their make-shift beds, smelling the sweet fumes.

She removed the -_now damp_- towel from around the woman's shoulders and began to dry the hair, wiping and rubbing it with the towel. When it was as dry as she could get it, she lifted Vrena's chin and told her to look at the sky as she pulled out a comb of fine brittle hair, sweeping it through the dark hair.

The hair was not curly, but not strait, either. It has a slight wave to it, but could be mistaken as strait if she felt like being seen that way. Aftercombing the wet hair of her friend, she looked at Vrena's face, now seeing how much she resembled her mother.

"Without a doubt, you _do_ look like your mother." Guinevere said to the woman, who merely looked down to the earth below them, replying with a quiet '_thank you_.'

More were awake now, and a few –including Lancelot- had come to gaze at the Vrena they had never seen. The Vrena whom before had been encrusted in dirt and blood, hair matted and dirty now shimmering and bright with the sun encircling it like a halo.

The two of them stood up, and she watched as Vrena let her hair blow in the cold air, drying it quickly, the green of her clothing bringing out her dark locks.

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She thanked Guinevere again for cleaning her hair…it seemed that now she felt better just by getting the red blood and brown dirt out of it. She felt clearer then she had in weeks, though her mind was still glued to the scout that would be returning soon. She felt herself flush and become nervous at the thought of him coming back, and walked into the direction of Arvin.

Petting him on the head, her fingers played with the end of her bow that had belonged to her mother so long ago. She had not used it in days, and yearned for a target for a few moments, but was interrupted by hoarse shouting from across the camp site.

A shout and a few pounding noises…_Dagonett_.

"No!" Screamed a young voice…_Lucan, the child from the wagon_. But immediately he was silenced, and she heard Marius' fiendish voice fill the air.

"_I have the boy! Don't move!_"

Grimacing, she grabbed the bow from the satchel.

Something had to be done, even Fulcinia had hinted to it. Tristan would also blame her if the fanatical man did any harm to _anyone_. She pulled an arrow from the bottom of the satchel, and with grace fastened it to the bow and headed into the direction of the yells, swerving around sleeping townsfolk and luggage, prepared to aim at the first victim.

This madness she would end today.

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Yay for updates -

I don't know if Vrena will end up shooting Marius, or Guinevere…or maybe both at the same time? XD…

_The possibilities…_

And if I didn't mention it before, the vote for a nice intense Tristan/Vrena scene in later chapters was voted 'YES' about a million times, so it's now my duty to come up with some good ideas :3

Feel free to help suggest.

Oh, and someone e-mailed me last chapter why I always seem to use 'east' so much in the story. My answer: it's just my way of leaving my semi-trademark. East coast represent! xD...

III Cari III


	14. First

Too lazy to do any comments on comments ;-;

This chapter is long enough already.

Oh, and if you review, try to answer the questions at the bottom. Some are important :P

And there will most definitely be some Vrena/Tristan scenes in this chapter. –_grins evilly_-

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**Chapter 14- First**

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It had been three days her sister had been gone. Well...escaped. Fugitive on the loose. She could take no more of this. Whatever was wrong with her, she was about to end it. Without a doubt, she knew for a fact that she was going mad. Mad like the lonesome women who had lost lovers in battles, like tyrants who had absorbed power like sponges, only to be wrung by the hands of a successor, squeezed dry until their last bit of sanity and life was gone…

Much like Vejha's own.

She had wished her sister _dead_.

Her own flesh and blood. How could she have done such a thing? What part of her mind was telling her that this was what their mother wanted? The Sarmatians knights at the battle so many years ago…had they not been forced to fight against their will? Dragged from their homes without a choice, such as what happened to her and her sister?

She was a day or more away from Tirth now. She had ridden hard all night, and now thedawn was approaching. She had hoped her sanity would return to her if she tried to catch up with it, but she still felt it: Like she was herself, but under control by something in her mind. As if one thought had power over all the rest.

_**You hate her. You hate them all. Do what you were born to do, kill them all!**_

What reasons do I have? All my reasons mean nothing.

**_Kill them! You hate them! Filthy beings that killed your mother, nearly you and your sister!_**

Did I not, just three days ago, have my sister sentenced to death by the same men who had attacked our village? What I am doing, what I am thinking, it is all wrong! This has to_ end_!

She gazed over the cliff, down to the forests and valleys below it. _A beautiful view_…fields of grass covered by the year's snow, trees painted green and white…the sky above was splattered with dark clouds. A storm was heading this way.

**_Kill them! Kill them all! Find them!_**

Vejha clapped her hands over her ears, but ended up grabbing her hair instead, and began yanking at it. Screaming in pain and frustration, she let go and punched herself.

_What is wrong with me_! This is not the answer to my troubles! I have gone _mad_, dear god…

She felt herself moving closer to the rim of the high tor, overhanging what seemed like the world itself.

Sobbing now, she clawed at her own face, trying to scrape the voice from her head. But it was still ringing loud and clear. _My poor sister! I have tortured her so, in ways that she did not deserve!_

_**She deserved it!**_

May she find peace were I could not…

The top ofVejha's shoe curled over the rocky edge, and she looked down. Forest and trees, miles long…they looked so comfortable, so welcoming…beautiful from the bird's eye view of the earth…

She felt herself tip slowly, her body falling towards nothingness…at first it felt normal, like falling down onto a floor, except the fall did not end, and her body began to feel as if it was being compressed. She wanted to scream in horror, but she couldn't, her lungs would not let her. Her eyes shut tighter and tighter as she braced herself for the wood of the trees, the pricking of the leaves, then soon the other-worldly comfort of the soft dirt.

The fall was not as long as she had expected. She felt the pains rack her body quickly, but instead of looking up at the sky, she was looking at her self…like some odd out of body experience, the kind the priests said were the work of the devil. Was it really the work of some dark demon? Was _she_ a demon? If she got better, would her sister welcome her back into her heart with open arms? She doubted it.

She couldn't feel her body move, and instead of feeling in pain, she felt as if she were pain itself. This pain that filled her entire being…a pain sharp in the back of her mind, as if something had been torn from it, or had disappeared…she could no longer hear the deluding second-consciousness…she felt like Vejha again. The woman who had sent her own sister to her death, being the mad, insane being she was. The pain was disappearing, and she heard a voice, that was not the one she usually heard...

"_Vejha, you are my only sister, not my enemy. I loved you so much, why did you betray me?_" spoke the faded voice of her sister.

"_It was not me! I am still here, Vrena! Can you hear me? I am still awake inside this wretched mind! I think I am better, please, help me!_" She cried and sobbed, the pain returning to her body, causing her to convulse sharply on the ground. She felt herself shake violently, her face burning from when she had clawed herself, every limb in her frozen with pain.

She could not hear the voice. She was thinking freely…she felt as if she had woken up from a dream.

_Have I escaped madness?_

But Vejha's thoughts, her normal feelings and senses coming back to her...all of them. She felt fresh, clean, untouched. Alone.

Then, her shaking dieing down, she gasped a breath, and lay motionless.

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Guinevere had heard the shouts from across the campsite, and retrieved a bow and arrow from a nearby horse –she did not know whose- and ran toward the sounds. Arthur and Lancelot, whom she had been speaking with before the distraction, were behind her, walking quickly- Lancelot unsheathing his twin blades, Arthur resting his hand on the hilt of Excalibur.

When they made it to the scene, at first Guinevere did not know how to react. The boy was being held with a knife at his throat by none other then Marius, and Dagonett was cornered by three mercenaries, all wielding weapons. If anyone made a move, both would die, no matter how strong they were.

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Vrena watched from behind one of the storage wagons only six yards away, as Marius was holding the child Lucan by the neck with a dagger pointed to his throat. Dagonett was surrounded by three of Marius' mercenaries. They were overpowered.

She saw Guinevere from the other side of the crowd; bow brandished, but did not know what to do. Naturally she would _shoot_ the arrow, but then there was a chance she would hit Lucan, not to mention the Mercenaries would go at Dagonett with all their strength.

She watched from the side as Fulcinia ran over to her husband and tried to pry the child from his arms, but Marius immediately pushed her back, and she hit the ground hard, letting out a yelp of pain.

Vrena's blood began to boil and her heart raced. _How dare he?_

She had had enough. Gripping the bow tighter, she mounted the arrow and aimed for Marius' chest, which was not a bad distance away considering she was coming in from the left. She walked around to the other side of the storage wagon quickly, and prepared to fire.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Bors coming in on his horse, axe wielded in defense. Knowing that he would take care of the mercenaries while she took care of Marius allowed her mind to ease, and she removed her fingers from the hilt of the arrow, letting the string shoot it to its destination. At the same time, she saw another arrow fly from Guinevere's bow, finally getting a good aim at the man as he shifted Lucan in front of him. Not a wise thing to do.

A few gasps were released from the crowd of serfs, and a few stares toward the direction of her arrow, as she stepped out from behind the wagon. Guinevere gave her a grin, and Lancelot shot her a disappointed glare that clearly said '_women steal all the fun_' as he slipped the twin blades into their scabbards on his back.

Bors came over a few seconds later, nearly running over one of the Mercenaries.

"**Artorius**!" He shouted to his commander. But then turned towards the dead Marius, and then aimed his axe towards the direction of one of Marius' guardsmen. "Do we have a problem?" He asked them. Dagonett retrieved his axe as well, now defended against the men.

"You have a choice. You help, or you die." Arthur said as he advanced forward. The mercenaries gave him a panicky look, and they nearly shook with fear, not knowing what to do.

"Put down your weapons. Do it, now!" Yelled the head mercenary as his men dropped their weapons. A man she did not recognize was ordered by Arthur to retrieve them from the ground, and he did so.

Vrena looked to her aunt, who looked a mix of sorrow and joy. She was still clutching her back with her left hand as the right held her off the ground. Vrena quickly moved across the area in between them, walking bluntly overtop Marius' body, pulling out the arrow she had fired.

She would have screamed, but the movement was too fast, she had not seen it coming. Marius, using the last of his strength, grabbed her ankle tightly, his face scrunched and furious. She quickly fastened the arrow she had retrieved from his chest and mounted it to the bow, firing right into his head.

But just as she had done that, another arrow at the same time came from the other side, piercing the right side of Marius' skull. But this arrow was not Guineveres.

-

* * *

- 

Tristan had not seen a great deal as he neared the camp site. No one had seen him come, but in front of him down the path, he saw the man called Marius holding a knife to a little boys' throat, whom he recognized to be the child Dagonett had retrieved from the dungeon the day before. He watched as a woman from behind a wagon aimed and fired a bow with excellent precision. Studying the woman clothed in a pale-green dress and a familiar cloak draped around her shoulders, he knew immediately who it was as her eyes fixed on her target.

_Vrena_.

She did not look much dissimilar besides the change in attire, but he noticed that her skin nearly glimmered in the dawning light of the sun, and her hair waved past her shoulders, about to her waist. He had not taken the time to notice these things before, because he had been too preoccupied. He watched as she lowered the bow, she advanced towards her aunt, who was lying on the ground.

The mercenaries belonging to Marius dropped their swords, and it was then that he noticed Dagonett had been cornered. A plan they had definitely schemed, but were unaware of how faulty the idea was.

His senses went on high alert as his eyes wandered to Vrena, who was now walking over the dead body of Marius, pulling out her arrow from his chest, and reacted quickly as the nearly-dead man's hand griped her lower leg hard and tried to throw her down.

Quickly he snatched up his bow and an arrow, firing quickly at the man's head, while Vrena –_bless her swift self_- fired the arrow she had taken from his body, and caught herself with her hand before she could fall afterwards.

She sent a look in his direction, and their eyes met.

-

* * *

- 

_Tristan_. Tristan had returned and seen Marius try to bring her down, and fired at him. Indeed, she had to admit, his aiming was much better then her own.

Their eyes held for a long time, it seemed, and they held the contact even as he lowered his bow and made his way forward, attracting the attention of the other knights.

She noticed some red bleeding through the fabric of his cloak that covered his shoulder, and more staining a cut on his upper arm. He was injured- But she had no idea how badly the shoulder was pierced with his cloak in the way. Her stare of awareness turned into one of worry, and he replied by galloping his horse forward, diverting their eye contact.

"How many did you kill?" Bors asked, also seeing the wound on his arm. She doubted he saw the one on his shoulder, though, because the cloak now covered it entirely.

"Four." He stated plainly.

"Not a bad start to the day." Bors replied as him and a few others laughed. Strange, Marius now dead seemed to brighten their mood instead of taint it. Deciding that she would ask about his wound later,Vrena moved toward Alecto, who had not spoken nor moved since his father had been eradicated.

"Do you hate me now, cousin?" She asked the boy quietly, but he just gave her a cold stare, normal for him. He shook his head, closed his eyes, and then looked back up to her.

"His death does not sadden me, or my mother. Thank you." He spoke and turned around, walking towards his mother, who embraced him weakly.

Vrenastood still for a few minutes, gazing at the ground where Marius had laid dead, but had been moved over into the woods. He would have no proper burial. The ground was stained with his blood, and no one seemed to notice it.

She turned around and headed towards Arvin, who swished his white tail and shook his head in excitement.

She, on the other hand, was not feeling all that thrilled.

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* * *

- 

It got colder as they went, and Vrena was happy her hair had dried already. Had it still been wet, she'd be_ frozen_.

They had just started riding off, leaving behind the thick forests and high trees. Being out in the open was not too bad. If there was an attack, the enemy would have to get into range to see you, and then there was nowhere to hide. That could be bad on both parts, sadly. But it was no time for worrying.

She traveled ahead of the caravan along with all seven of the knights, Fulcinia and Lucan riding on the same horse, both tired from walking. The sun rose high in the sky and the snow was falling lightly, though it would eventually stop.

Arthur, who had been speaking with Alecto, rode to the head of the caravan with them; a gloomy expression on his face.

"_You_ look happy." Vrena stated sarcastically. Arthur didn't laugh.

"Same to _you_." He replied solemnly. It was true, indeed. Vrena had not smiled once since she had killed her uncle. It was her first time killing a human…not once as a Woad child had she brought death to a living being, except maybe an animal for food. Today, she had taken hunting a step further. But that did not upset her, for some reason.

She felt a bit shaken…and confused. Confused about her feelings, about Tristan riding in front of her, her sister, whom she had once loved…Arthur's answer to the Merlin in which he had discussed with Guinevere back at the camp. Everything seemed so foreign all of a sudden, and it made her want to cry out.

Looking to Tristan again, she could see more of the blood stain from his shoulder wound seeping through the cloak. Still bleeding? It has been a long time, probably longer for him. _Should it not have stopped now_?

Did she dare drag him away from the rest of the knights as they were all around them?

Her old indifferent thoughts began to appear.

_Of course_.

She rode Arvin ahead and placed him in between Tristan's horse and Galahads. Kicking the scout in the leg once, he looked at her from the corner of his eye.

"_A word_." She said, nudging her head to the side and riding off to the left of the caravan again. The knights who were in front turned around to see their scout again be dragged off by the lady.

When they had disappeared to carry on their conversation near the wagon that held Guinevere, the six –_eight, including Lucan and Fulcinia_- began to talk amongst one another.

"I wonder what that might turn into." Lancelot laughed.

"I never really imagined Tristan the ladies man…" Gawain chimed in.

"They argue like an old married couple!" Lancelot added, making the others chuckle lightly.

"Indeed, it must run in the family." Said a light-hearted Fulcinia. It was the first time she had spoken since they had traveled from the camp. The nights glanced at her, interested looks in their eyes. Fulcinia blinked.

"Aye, those bits of unanswered questions has been in my head for a while now. She's so beautiful…not the kind of _fiery_ beautiful you see in some of those Woad ladies, but the kind of beauty that reminds you of home…" Gawain rambled on, the other knights grinned at the man being so forward to the elderly woman.

"It _should_. Half her blood is from your home." Retorted Fulcinia seriously, cradling a tired Lucan in her lap.

"Are you joking, lady?" asked Galahad, an astonished look on his face.

"Oh, for heavens sake, she told you that she was half Woad, what could the other half possibly be! Surely not Roman, I am merely her mother's half-sister, which does not even make us related by much. Never the less, no Roman blood taints her veins." Fulcinia spoke clearly. The men seemed a bit taken back by her change in mood.

"So, she is Sarmatian as well? I'll be damned. Your theory has finally been proven wrong, Bors." Lancelot laughed as Bors made a sour face.

"Well, 's true _most_ of the time."

-

* * *

- 

When Vrena was sure they would not be heard, she and Tristan rode side by side next to Guinevere's wagon. But at the moment, she did not care if the woman listened in or not. That was her own choice.

Her heart was fluttering quickly in her chest, and she tried as hard as she could not to blush or let chills crawl up her spine. Just being this close to him was making her short of breath. Neither of them spoke for a few seconds, until Vrena could finally speak the only thing that came to her mind.

"I'm…sorry." She said, not looking at him, but down at her feet lodged into Arvin's stirrups, and to her hands clasping the reigns.

"I should be the one apologizing. It is not often I argue with anyone." He said, looking over to her once, then back to the world in front of them.

Herself being to his left, she had an excellent view of his injured shoulder, still covered by the cloak. She moved her hand to lift up the fabric covering what she wanted to see, but his hand quickly shot up and grabbed her wrist- not hard, but enough to make her catch her breath.

"Do not. It's only painful if you do." He warned and released his grip.

"If it is _painful_, you should _bandage_ it."

-

* * *

- 

"I have dealt with worse."

"_Let me see it_."

Tristan gave her a look of defeat. He would not argue with her, not so quickly after their last quarrel. He reluctantly allowed her to move the cloak away with her small, thin hands. Her eyes widened, and she gave him another good blow to his lower leg, which was very much in range.

"That's _got _to be bandaged, you fool! You can't just walk around with-"

"_Ride_. _Ride _around with." He corrected her, watching with amusement as her brow creased and she sighed loudly.

"_RIDE_- around with open wounds such as this!" She finished her sentence. When he didn't retort, she growled in frustration.

"Let me dress it, then. Dagonett left some things in the wagon that I can use, and there is plenty of cloth that Guinevere and Lucan have not used up." She said, her voice becoming quiet and calm once more. He had a choice- he could tell her it was not necessary and ride back up to the other knights, or let her fix his wound. Taking a quick glance at the blood covering his tunic, he decided he should probably listen to her. An infection was possible, no matter how hard he tried to hide it from the air.

They both dismounted their horses and let them wander along-side the wagon. They were smart enough not to run off. Even though the carriage was moving, both of them made it in easily, to find that Guinevere was sleeping peacefully in the corner, covered by at least three blankets.

They were _alone_.

This would prove interesting...

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* * *

- 

It felt so awkward in here with him…but it was probably just her who felt this way. Her heart was beating fast in her body, and as she pulled out one of the long strips of cloth used to wrap wounds, tried to keep herself steady, knowing that he was sitting behind her. But when she looked to see what had been used to clean the wounds of the wagons other occupants, she saw that they had been using merely alcohol. A large bottle of it was sitting next to the rest of the supplies.

Vrena laughed a bit, and turned to face him. He had already taken off the armor and tunic he usually wore overtop, and was now only in the thin leather-like shirt he wore when indoors. She forced away a blush that was threatening to rise to her cheeks as he undid three of the buttons, giving her access to the wounded shoulder.

Seeing it now, she should have whacked him upside the head with the glass bottle for allowing such a thing to go unattended to! Did this man think that he was bloody_ immortal_ or something? There was not one, but **two** deep cuts into his shoulder, most likely from arrows. _Saxon_ arrows.

"_Idiot…_" She murmured under her breath as she poured some of the alcohol onto a small piece of cloth, soaked it, and then gently applied it to the wounds. She knew as he closed his eyes that it was painful, even for him, but he showed no other signs of hurting besides that.

She dabbed the cloth a few times as a blush rose to her cheeks, heating up her face. _No_, not good! She quickly removed it and tossed it to the side. She tried to hide her face as she reached over to pick up the long strips of cloth to wrap the wound in. But it was too late, he had noticed.

"You seem uptight." He said, stating the obvious.

"It's been a bad week." She said as calmly as she could, trying to get the red from her face. She lifted up his arm and began to dress the wound so that nothing could possibly get to it. But it was too late to push thoughts from her head now. Her hands started to shake as she tucked one part of the cloth under the other so it would stick, and quickly folded her hands into her lap. _She was too close to him_. They were nearly an inch apart, she was sure he could hear her quick breaths.

But as she was about to move, a pain struck her throat, and she let out a few violent coughs. She quickly covered her mouth, and afterwards took a gasp for air and tried to calm herself down. But then she began to feel light-headed…and things seemed hotter then before, but it was freezing.

She felt Tristan's strong hand rest on her forehead. It felt soothing, the cold against her hot head. But…_hot head_? She had not been warm before, what was this about?

"You're warm. Do you feel ill?" He asked, for once looking concerned. His hair swept in front of his face as he shifted in his position on the floor of the carriage. _Was she warm from blushing, or was she indeed falling ill?_ Whatever it was, she did not want to be in this place any longer. But as she went to get up, her knees did not want to move under her weight. Before she could control it, a tear streaked her face, but she rubbed it away. She had to get out, _now…_

But as she began to turn towards the door, Tristan's strong hand take hold of her wrist again.

"You're not well, you should stay in here." He suggested. Well…it wasn't really a suggestion, more of a command. But no sooner had they both realized how close they were did they hear drums in the distance.

Saxon drums, the beat pounding and throbbing in her head, giving her a headache almost instantly. She looked to the silent scout once again as he quickly put on his tunic and armor, fastening them tight. Guinevere woke up behind them, awareness in her eyes.

"The drums…Saxon drums?" She questioned Vrena, though everyone already knew the answer. The three of them quickly jumped out of the moving wagon, which was now closing in on a long patch of ice. Retrieving their horses, they rode up to the front of the caravan again.

Looking at the large frozen lake, she knew that this was not good. She and Guinevere gave each other worried looks as Arthur turned to Tristan.

"Is there any other way?" He asked his scout, who still remained unemotional and collected, though they could be walking to their death.

"No, we must cross." He answered, and the knights all looked gloomy again. All of themstared at the ice, wondering how thick it was, _or how thin it was…_

"Get them all out of carriages. Tell them to spread out." Arthur commanded, and the same man from earlier who picked up the weapons of the mercenaries ran off to report to all the townsfolk. If they could make it overtop this, perhaps the Saxon army could not. Those large brutes were dumb enough to break anything, perhaps frozen lakes would count.

Making their way overtop the ice, Vrena glanced at Tristan, who was leading his horse across the cracking ice._ It may be cracking, but maybe it would not break under them entirely?_ But as the drums got louder and louder, and the ice cracked more and more, Arthur spoke up.

"_Knights_." He gave the silent order. They all knew what he was commanding of them. There was no way they would make it across this ice in time.

"Well, I'm tired of running. And these Saxons are so close behind, my ass is hurting." Bors spoke with true optimism.

"Never liked looking over my shoulder anyway." She heard Tristan say from a few feet away.

"It'll be a pleasure to put an end to this racket." Gawain said. Vrena laughed despite her sore throat, and chimed in.

"If you don't mind, I'm not leaving the lot of you behind by yourselves. You deal with the armed ones, leave their _drummers_ to me." Vrena said, taking her bow out from Arvin's satchel bag along with a huge bundle of arrows she had carelessly thrown at the bottom. She saw Tristan give her a worried look, but none of them could deny that she was skilled with the bow. If the Saxons came within range, she would simply move back.

"We'll finally get a look at the bastards." Galahad smiled.

"Here. _Now_." Dagonett said eagerly, already brandishing his axe and bow. Lancelot seemed to be the only one who was disappointed in their situation. He shook his head and took his bow from his horse's bag.

The man whose name she did not know ordered two men behind him to gather up the eight horses to be taken along with the caravan. Vrena pet Arvin's mane one last time before he was dragged away, letting out loud neighs of disapproval. But halfheartedly he trotted on, following the lead of the man who had taken him.

"Ganis, I need you to lead the people. The main Saxon army is inland so if you track the coastline until you're well south of the wall, you'll be safe." Said Arthur to another man behind him.

"You'reeight against two _hundred_!" He yelled back to the Roman commander, shocked at how willingly they were defying the laws of nature. To him, _they_ were doomed. To them, the _Saxons_ were doomed. It all depended on whose eyes you were looking through.

"_Nine_. You could use another bow." Said Guinevere, who marched up to stand beside Vrena. They both smiled. It was now seven men and two women, nine all together. Arthur told the mercenaries from earlier that the man named Ganis was to be their temporary leader. Vrena prayed that they would not try anything stupid.

They all watched as the entire caravan, excluding them, disappeared behind the frozen hills to the right. The little boy Lucan waved to Dagonett sadly, and was soon out of sight. The Saxon drums were just around the hill now. Untying the string around her arrows, she was -_for the first time in her life_- ready to kill for a good reason.

"You'll keep your promise to kill those damn drummers, right?" Gawain yelled to her from further down the line. Vrena smiled, and could see from the corner of her eye that Tristan had smiled as well, along with the others.

"Count on it."

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* * *

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* * *

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_Whoa_…I think this is the longest chapter I've written so far! And there was fluff! Goody goody fluff :D

Hope you guys enjoyed it. Questions: **Did I screw up at all? Do you all hate me? Should I allow Vejha to live? Should Dagonett die in the next chapter, or perhaps I can be convinced to find a way around it?**

III Cari III


	15. The Ailing Kicker of Scouts

**_Calliann_**- XD get some sleep! And I agree with your opinion on Dagonett dieing in the movie. Poor Lucan. I think they only did it to make you sad…

**_Siopao_**- Everyone loves fluff :P

**_ElvenStar5_**- O.O ok! Ok! Haha. Anyway, I'm glad you liked the 'Vejha stuff'. :P

**_Dw_**- I'm trying to make it as interesting as possible for you guys…but every now and then when I have to change the script around, I waste about tem minutes planning out the scenes in my head so I know what I'm writing.

**_Perberaidien_**- Heheh…don't worry, there will be lots more fluff in the future. :P

**_Gondorian Archer_**- Hmm…I haven't thought too deep yet on another good Tristan/Vrena scene. I think I'll make them fight again…maybe some interesting things will happen. –_Grins evilly_-

**_SpectralLady_**- Well, Tristan certainly won't be making out with her while she has a burning fever XD…don't worry, fluff comes later…

**_Liduina_**- Thanks! That makes me feel better :D

**_OP_**- DUDE XD…don't worry, I've got Dagonett under control. :)

**_Lininlix_**- Thanks :D

Yea…I'm doing this now so I can keep reading it over and over until the night is over…'cuz I'm scared to go to bed now xD…my parents made me watch _The Grudge_ with them, and even though I had my eyes closed the whole time…_grah_…that stupid ladies voice making the '_uuuuuug_' noise. Fck…yea, I think I might stay up the rest of the night writing chapter 16 XD…

Story story…

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* * *

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**Chapter 15- Vrena: The –Ailing- Kicker of Scouts.**

**-**

* * *

**-**

Guinevere watched as the Saxons started appearing from behind the mountain of snow. Indeed they did look like disgusting things…_torn up matching clothes with mounds of armor_, that's all they seemed to be to her. Grip tightening on her bow, she looked at the man in front…bald and looking more important then everyone else. He was probably their chief. But this was not the army they had heard of…this was merely a part of it. It made her wonder how large the real thing was.

She looked over to Vrena, to see that their thoughts were quite the same. The woman was scanning the opposing men with calculating eyes; _that_, or pin-pointing the drummers so she could remember their faces, should she not kill them fast enough. Guinevere would have laughed, but she did not know if it was the right time too.

To her left, there was Lancelot, who seemed to have cheered up from earlier. He glanced at her once, a devious grin on his face.

"You look frightened." He sighed loudly. "There's a large number of lonely _men_ out there." Guinevere laughed at this comment.

"Don't worry; I won't let them rape you." She joked back. But then silence loomed over all of them as the Saxon army stopped, just in front of the ice. From where they were, they could hear the bald Saxon say something among the lines of "_Archer_," and another came forward with a bow, firing the arrow in their direction to test the range.

She let loose a breath of relief as the arrow landed on the ice not far from them, skidding across it. If they wanted to attack, they would have to move forward, _right onto the ice_.

"I believe they're waiting for an invitation. Bors, Tristan." Arthur commanded the two, who raised their bows and aimed.

"We're far out of range. Unless a Sarmatian bow can make an arrow travel as fast as a Woads?" Guinevere affirmed. She knew that her bow could probably manage to hit a man in thefront ranks, as could Vrena's. Hers might actually go further, now that she thought of it. The other woman's bow seemed to be made in an odd style, possibly passed down to her. There was a secret to the Woadish bow making that was always kept hidden, only known by those who constructed them.

Studying Vrena's again, she estimated by its length that it could fire farther then her traditional one.

Arthur sent her a quick smirk as Tristan and Bors released their arrows, which hit two Saxon men with grand accuracy.

She glanced over to Vrena, and Vrena to her, as the two of them raised their bows, commencing in the internal contest of '_whose bow shoots the farthest_'. She took note that Vrena's arrows were also longer; and if possible, thinner.

Pulling back the strings as far as they could go, both of them released at the same time. Guinevere watched as a cry pierced the air near the middle of the Saxon ranks -_where her bow had pierced someone_, and turned to see the dumbfounded looks on the knight's faces as Vrena's projectile shot overtop the heads of nearly all the ranks, piercing the skull of a tall Saxon far in the back.

"Where'd you get that?" Lancelot asked Vrena, who was picking up another one of her arrows from the ice next to her.

"Egyptian war bow given to one of my late grandfathers, Acacia wood, forgot what the string was made of, family heirloom, and I would _never_ let you lay a _finger_ on it." Vrena spoke quickly and plainly. She let loose another arrow that hit one of the Saxons carrying a drum, nearly knocking his body into the man behind him. Guinevere could not resist a laugh at the disappointed look on Lancelot's face.

Suddenly, one of the other Saxon commanders yelled at everyone to move, and the regiment of men began marching across the ice.

'_How foolish…they know they are on ice, yet they continue to stomp and make all that racket…_' she thought to herself.

The drums had begun to play again as they marched. She heard a growl ease from Vrena's throat as the lady fired another arrow, bringing down a drummer, which quieted the noise down a bit.

"Aim for the wings of the ranks. Make them cluster." Arthur ordered all of them, and at once all six of the knights, along with Vrena and herself, began firing their arrows towards the outer ranks, and the plan began to progress smoothly. The more they fired to the outside, the more width they lost, and more pressure was applied to the ice, which was now cracking quicker then before.

They kept firing until the Saxon chief in front realized their scheme, and began to yell at his men to keep the ranks. The ice still refused to brake, damn it…the bald man started yelling at everyone over and over to hold the ranks, and a few other threats along with them. They were drawing nearer…

Her heart began to pound quicker, and she felt ready for the fight. She watched as Tristan turned towards Vrena, who was about four down from him, giving her a commanding stare.

"_Move back_." He ordered her, and then turned back to firing arrows at Saxons. She saw from the corner of her eye Vrena glanced his way, and obediently picked up her arrows.

Vrena distanced herself from her old position a good dozen yards, and Guinevere turned quickly to see her aim her bow forward, then raised it high into the air, firing it nearly strait up. It curved over their heads and drifted forward, still managing to hit a Saxon in the back ranks. Guinevere made a mental note to ask again what that bow was made from.

"It's not breaking…_Fall back_!" Arthur yelled to them. But the Saxons kept advancing forward, andnow the only oneout of range of a Saxon arrow was Vrena, who had just begun to fire two at once. Already, she had taken out _more_ men then _any_ of them. She had known Vrena was skilled with archery, but not this capable! It must have taken her years to master it so.

"Prepare for combat…" Arthur said through clenched teeth as he drew Excalibur. The sound of more sword being ripped from their scabbards filled the air, the clanking of the metal ringing in her ears.

But then a yell distracted her, and she turned to see Dagonett running forward; axe wielded, _running right for the Saxons_.

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* * *

-

Vrena watched in horror as Dagonett ran forward, too close to the Saxons to be safe, and began throwing all his strength into his large battle axe to break the ice. She listened as a few of the knights called his name, and Arthur yelled for them to cover him. The Saxon chief called for his archers, and she knew that Dagonett was doomed. Her head was pounding.

'_No! He was the one who helped me heal and bandaged me when I was injured! If anything, this would now be my time to repay him! He cannot die out there alone!_' She yelled to herself frantically. Looking down to her pile of arrows, she saw that she only had a few left out of the many she had already used up.

Then she looked to the other knight's piles, which were heaped by the dozens. She tried to ignore the heat from her forehead.

It was risky, but she _had_ to, or Dagonett was already the walking dead. She remembered all those years ago when she had been taught the art of archery, and her mother's words floated through her head: "_It is traditional to shoot one arrow, sometimes two. But I find it sufficient to shoot ten at once, though getting them all to hitch to the string can be a bloody pain…_"

_Did she dare try and test her mother's blood?_ There was only one way to find out.

She ran forward back up to the knights, saw Tristan give her a glare, and then quickly turn around to the enemy again. When she reached them, she picked up ten of the arrows Lancelot had discarded and quickly attached the hooks at their ends to the bow string, hurriedly searching for a way to keep them there and fire all of them at once.

Once she had managed to entwine her fingers in different directions to support them, she took a deep breath. Heart racing, she spread them out evenly and twisted the bow sideways like a crossbow, and saw from the corner of her eye everyone give her a baffled look. She prayed hard that no arrow would stray and accidentally hit Dagonett instead of a Saxon marching towards him.

"_Brace yourself!_" She yelled loudly, releasing all the arrows. It was at that point, she could feel the blood of her mother pulsing through her body, and everything began to feel _ethereal_…_almost like a dream_. But then it could also just be her headache messing with her mind. _She had done it_. All ten arrows, save one that missed, had effectively hit many Saxons in the front rank.

She saw some of their archers shoot her a frightened glare as their fellow men fell to the ground in front of them. Tristan shot her another look, but this time he did not seem angry- well, he did, but now he looked more worried. She was in range of them.

She picked up the rest of Lancelot's arrows, which wasonly bloodythree, and fired them quickly before advancing over to Arthur's pile. Speaking of Arthur, he was now next to Dagonett with a shield in front of them, and Gawain had accompanied him. A loud crack came from the ice, but it _still _did not break. Vrena swore under her breath.

Picking up Arthur's redundant pile of arrows, she now realized that she was standing next to Tristan. He did not speak, only fired his arrows one by one quickly, in an even pattern, aiming for every archer he could spot.

She felt her stomach knot up again, but she tried to ignore it and evened out Arthur's arrows onto her bow; again aiming it as if she was wielding a crossbow, she released them, letting them fly through the air. Two out of ten missed this time, and one barely skimmed the top of a Saxon's head. She began to feel anxious as she reached down for ten or so more, and saw that Tristan did the same.

She felt a mix of jealousy and awe as he not only _hooked_ them quicker then her, but fired them all evenly with better exactness, piercing a good amount of Saxon flesh.

"_Effective_, but better if you can hitch and draw them faster." He lectured her and went back to firing one arrow at once, back to his emotionless self.Guinevere was now firing two at a time, allowing herself to get in some practice.

"Easy for _you_ to say. If you want the truth, this is the first time I've fired more then _three_." She said as-a-matter-of-factly, and adjusted the last of Lancelot's arrows to her bow, lifting it again.

But Tristan had no time to shoot her any scornful or disappointed looks, because the joking died quickly when a Saxon arrow hit Dagonett's shoulder, which had not been guarded by Arthur's shield. She watched as Lancelot, who had been with him, pulled out a dagger from his boot and chucked it at the head of a Saxon archer.

"**Dag**!" Bors yelled, still firing his arrows furiously- along with Galahad, herself, Tristan, and Guinevere, they were indeed taking out many of the Saxons…but the ice had still not broken, and Dagonett was still pounding at the frozen lake with his axe, despite the blood now spilling from his shoulder.

As if on queue, they could hear a loud, ear-penetrating crack...followed by many more, as the ice began to fling up violently. Dagonett was again pierced with another Saxon arrow, this time painfully on the leg where a faulty one had ricocheted off the ice, flying right at him.

"**_Dag!_**" Bors shouted again, and this time dropped his bow and ran forward with his shield. In shock, she watched as Dagonett's limp body fell into the hole he had made in front of him, body splashing into the freezing water. Shouts and yells were heard erupting from the Saxons as the ice below them broke, the tipping over in huge chunks.

Arthur ran forward again, reaching into the water with one hand, grabbing Dagonett; and with every fiber in him, yanked the large man out of the ice. Gawain and Bors shielded them as they pulled him back onto the ice.

"Pull back! _Arthur_!" Galahad yelled, still firing arrows at the Saxons that had escaped the ice. Vrena's head began to pound harder, and she did not hear Tristan tell her that they needed to get back to land. She clutched her hand to her forehead, which was now burning like fire.

Almost instantly she was hit with a lightheaded feeling, along with a cold shock, and her vision blurred. She felt herself sink, but a pair of strong arms caught her and took her bow from her hand before her grip could loosen. She could faintly hear a few shouts from one of the knights as she felt herself being flung over someone's shoulder.

"**Dag**! Dag, _stay with me_!" She distinguished Bors' voice, shouting hoarsely at his friends wilted body. '_No…no! He cannot be dead! He is strong, he is still alive!_' Vrena yelled to herself, and forced herself out of her woozy state, realizing quickly that the ice had broken under her and she was now drenched in freezing water.

The person who had grabbed her and carried her off the ice was none other then Tristan himself, and her face began to feel hotter then it already was. When he let her go, she felt Guinevere's small hands supporting her, keeping her standing. She felt so…_weak…cold_…exhausted.

She could hear nothing but silence now. All the Saxons were now under water or retreating. They had won. '_But Dagonett…how is Dagonett?_' She forced herself out of Guinevere's hold and hustled over to the other knights, who were around him. '_Damn it, Dagonett is the one who usually heals our wounds. If he's the one wounded, and he's not awake, that puts them in a bad position._' She thought as she looked at the six knights, knowing yet not knowing what to do with the wounded Dagonett.

She knew now that she looked ill and feverish, she could feel it as well. Her bones were shaking and skin still prickling with the freezing liquid; she was indeed sick. But Dagonett needed her help now more then she did. Besides, she was the _only_ one out of _all_ of them who was evena bit skilled with wounds.

Almost knocking over Gawain, she went to bend her knees, but ended up falling on them; Gawain and Galahad to her side quickly grabbed her arms to steady her, but she yanked away from them.

She was taking in short breaths now, and her teeth were chattering. Skin pale from the cold, she quickly wrung her hair with her hands, getting out the wintry water. The knights began to look with worry at her and their injured friend, knowing that she would not listen if they told her to calm herself.

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Vrena looked _horrible_. Thanks too her fall into the cracked ice, her hair was matted and disheveled. She was so weak; it looked like any minute she would freeze. Her skin was pale, lips blue, teeth chattering, and her eyes looked red- evidence of a fever. Guinevere was worried for the girl's health, but she herself had never tended many wounds. Wounds that Dagonett had a nasty few of, which needed to be tended too. _They had no choice_.

Vrena's eyes scanned the let and shoulder punctured with the arrows, and began to work. The woman's hands were shaking from the cold as she placed one hand next to the penetrated wound, and pulled out the arrow from Dagonett's leg as quickly as she could.

The hand holding down the leg got some blood on it, but Vrena seemed to be payingno heed to it at the moment. Instead, she spun her head around; which nearly scared Gawain and Galahad to death, for she looked like death itself.

"Cloth. A long

piece." She stuttered, her breath coming quickly in short gasps now. Gawain submissively removed his own cloak, and grabbing the end of it, ripped as hard as he could, tearing it halfway down, then ripped it again to remove it completely. Then he began ripping another for the next wound as she wrapped the cloth around his leg, tying the end tightly.

She extended her hand as the otherswiftly tore out the arrow from Dagonett's shoulder, and as quickly as the cloth was placed into her hand, she wrapped it under the arm and across the shoulder as tight as she could.

"We- need to get h-him to the _caravan_ s-s…_so_ I can find his remedies. H-he will live if we move f-f-_fast_ enough." She nearly choked. Bors quickly picked up his friends body, and Tristan came over to her and wrapped her into his dry cloak, lifting her up into his arms. For once, Vrena was too out of it to feel any kind of nervous emotion. She felt _ugly…ugly and ill_. Her head was pounding, and she wished for a hot fire…and some nice hot food.

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At first, Vejha thought she was dead…_maybe she was in heaven, where the Christians say one goes when they pass on?_ But surely she was too sinful to go there. But if this was hell, should she not be burning? She could feel nothing; she couldn't even open her eyes. She was numb from head to toe.

She tried to pry her eyes open, but it pained her, so she gave up. She wanted to scream, scream for her sister…wanted her sister to be there to comfort her like she always would. But no. _Something inside me snapped, I almost killed her…_

Her body began to shake with sobs, and all of a sudden the numbness was gone. Every bone in her body was screaming and bruised. Before she could pass out again…she heard footsteps, and a curious voice.

And then again, everything went black.

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Well…that was an interesting chapter.

Anyways, it was a majority-rules-all vote, Dagonett will live. But damn it, I wasn't supposed to tell you that, was I?…

III Cari III


	16. Sobs of an Unfortunate Mad Woman

**_SpectralLady_**- Thanks :D I'm looking forward to the next chapter more then this one…

**_Katemary77_**- Was it really the best chapter? o.o

**_Calliann_**- He'll have lots more reasons to be worried about her in later chapters, don't worry :P

**_Dw_**- XD if they hadn't been too busy helping Dagonett, I'm sure she would have given him a nice kick or two…or three…

**_Gondorian Archer_**- I had to do some quick research on Egyptian war bows, believe it or not. I knew nothing about them until I thought to myself "wow. I might want to know something about this weapon before I put it into my story XD"

**_Op_**- Dude, dude XD

**_Charlie_**- Really? Definitely e-mail that to me then. Maybe I can write that one after I'm done with this :P

**_Siopao_**- Maybe for some gold on Gaia you can convince me to hold updating until the morning when you're online :P (just kidding. I'll warn you next time.)

**_HGandRHrforever_**- More goodness will be in the next chapter, I promise. This chapter won't be too exciting :(

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**Chapter 16- Sobs of an Unfortunate Mad Woman, Yells of an Unfortunate Sane One.**

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Fulcinia thought she might have died from lack of airwhen she saw the body the two serfs were carrying. It was so beaten up and bruised, and looked paralyzed…at first, she thought it was _Vrena_- but she remembered that Vrena was with the knights and Guinevere, and this girl had come from further down the trail.

She began to panic as she looked at Vejha's limp corpse in Ganis' arms, pale and wet from the snow.

"Is she dead?" Her voice shook, moving closer to her niece…now she saw the differences between Vrena and Vejha. While Vrena's hair had a slight curl to it, Vejha's was strait and smooth, and much shorter. It had probably been cut that way in the past. But she looked so much like her sister, it would still bewilder you.

"Aye, she's breathing…but she's out of it…" Ganis said. "I found her over there, just about near the cliff." He finished.

Fulcinia looked up, and indeed, they were near a huge Tor…from down where they were, it looked endless and vast. From the top, everything below must seem like a painting…Studying Vejha's condition, anyone would be able to tell that she had either jumped or been thrown.

"_Vejha tried to kill me_." She remembered Vrena's words as she looked at the lifeless body in Ganis' arms. From the way she had put it, it made Fulcinia believe that she thought her sister a madwoman. If that was a fact, they should discard the body and pretend they never came across it. But…she could just not do that. No matter how little sanity Vejha had left, no one deserved to suffer in the cold.

"Put her into the wagon, and take Lucan out of it. Bring him to me once you have covered her with every blanket you can find." She commanded, surprised at the authority in her voice. But then, it **was** her family, they had no chances to intervene with her judgment.

"She resembles-" But Ganis could not finish, because Fulcinia had begun to swat him away. She watched carefully as he carried her to the wagon, the disappeared out of sight. When he came back out, he looked around the immobile pit-stop. They had only moved a few minutes from the ice, and it was safe enough where they were.

She smiled as she spotted Arthur and Lancelot become visible through the trees, but all joy vanished as soon as she saw Bors with a wounded Dagonett over his shoulder, and Tristan cradling Vrena carefully. She looked worse then before, and was now soaking wet and shivering, wrapped up in the scout's cloak.

From a sadistic state of mind, she now knew that Vrena and Vejha were both prone to many things- most recently noted to be fainting and falling.

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She was beginning to feel the heat return to her body. Most of the heat was rising to her face, though…indeed that was one body part were all the blood seemed to go when Tristan was around. But he was holding her. **HOLDING** her. She didn't even think it was the chills that shook her bones anymore, but the fact that _they_ were so close together. Nearly the whole walk to the caravan she had been absorbed in three things:Tristan's scent, Dagonett's body that needed to be healed, and her burning headache.

As her aunt came forward, however, Tristan did not put her down. Instead, he shot Arthur a quick stare. Arthur, fully aware that they could not go anywhere until the injured Dagonett –_and sick Vrena_- were taken care of, began to shout orders crankily.

"_Someone_ go catch food, _someone_ light a fire, and _someone_ go retrieve Dagonett's healing supplies from the wagon." He commanded, rubbing his temples. All the knights were under a painful amount of stress at the moment, and it was mostly them who volunteered to perform the tasks he asked of. They were all hungry and cold, eager for a fire and some food.

Tristan finally sat her onto the ground, near where Lancelot and Galahad had begun throwing every piece of wood they could find into a pile. Bors also laid Dagonett's body next to her; Guinevere ran off to the wagon in which she had spent most of the trip, to retrieve all of Dag's gear.

Vrena blinked as her aunt's eyes widened and she ran after Guinevere quickly, trying to make it to the carriage before her. But her head throbbed painfully for the thousandth time; she shut her eyes tight, trying to fend off the ache. When she opened them, Guinevere and Fulcinia had both disappeared from sight.

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Guinevere turned around as she neared the wagon, Fulcinia right on her heels. She gave the woman a questioning glance, but was taken aback by the fright in the elder's voice.

"You mustn't go in there, not until _Vrena_ knows." Panted the frail lady, gripping the curtain of the wagon tightly. But Guinevere would not have things hidden from her, and she had to hurry quickly with collecting Dagonett's medicines.

"What is in there you are so afraid of me seeing?" Guinevere asked as Fulcinia closed her eyes in thought. There was silence for a few seconds, until the woman could grasp the words to elaborate with.

"We _found_ her…buried in the snow. She hasn't woken up yet." Fulcinia spoke quietly, trying to slow her words. Guinevere raised an eyebrow and pulled back the curtain.

"Is that…?" She asked as she examined the body covered in many blankets, unconscious on the floor. At first she had thought she was seeing Vrena's ghost or some unfathomable thing such as it, but the hair was shorter. Her face looked bruised, she only imagined what the rest ofthebody looked like.

"Has Vrena not told you?" Fulcinia shook her head, reaching into the wagon to grab Dagonett's things. "This is Vejha, Vrena's sister. The one who tried to…" But Fulcinia was cut off quickly by Guinevere.

"How did she come to be this way, and if she is an enemy, why did you not leave her to die where she was?" She asked in an angry voice. _What did this woman think she was doing, keeping Vrena's worst fear nearlyten yards away?_ Indeed Fulcinia's actions seemed faulty.

"We found her near the bottom of a cliff. No one knows if she jumped or was thrown." The other woman spoke meekly. Guinevere sighed.

"_When_ exactly do you reckon Vrena will be informed of this?" Guinevere asked sharply. But Fulcinia did not reply, merely look to the ground, then back to the half-dead Vejha in the wagon. Guinevere sighed again and took the cloths and ointments from the woman's hands, getting away as quickly as possible. _Vrena's sister, the one who had gone mad and nearly killed her…is being sheltered right here at their camp site!_

She tried to hide her shock and frustration as she neared Vrena. Enough wood had been collected, and Lancelot had poured some alcohol over it and was working silently, trying to spark it. Galahad was sitting quietly and gazing at the snowy grass beneath him, and Tristan was kneeling next to Vrena in –_what seemed like to her_- a protective manner. This made her feel somewhat less miserable; glancing over to Arthur, who was to the left of them, was still standing. His mood had not improved over the last couple minutes.

Lancelot sighed triumphantly as the wood began to blaze, and he fell back onto the white and green of the ground; closing his eyes to try and rest himself. Looking between Arthur and him, she began to feel a slight headache herself. Soon she would have to stop thinking about other individual's relationships, and start thinking about her own.

Vrena, who was looking only a small bit better after being warmed with the Fire -_and Tristan's cloak-_, extended her hands to receive the cloth and healing ointment.

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Vrena scanned her surroundings as Guinevere handed her the supplies needed for Dagonett's wounds. Tristan was next to her, and subconsciously, she knew that he taking away her chills faster then the fire ever could. Just being next to him sent her gut into a mad fury, making her nervous of his presence. But this man whom was so near…she knew that it could never be anything more. He was Sarmatian, and she carried the blood of both his friends and his enemies.

Steadying herself and ignoring her pounding headache, she untied the old cloth from Dagonett's arm and leg, but his clothes were now getting in the way of his wounds. She was **NOT** about to strip him of his clothing, in _any_ case. But fortunately for her, Tristan noticed her struggle, and pulled out his dagger; he made long rips where the wounds were so she could reach them, then pulled away to let her work.

She poured some of the ointment onto the open wound, and jumped as Dagonett's body moved a bit, but he did not wake from his unconscious state. It was good for her that the arrows had not penetrated too deep, or she would have been required to sew them up, which was** not** a fun task.

Tying the new fresh cloth over the leg wound, she did the same for the shoulder, and then collapsed backward onto the snow, mimicking Lancelot. But from the looks of it, Lancelot was already dead asleep. How he did it, she would never know.

"Might want to get up, your aunt has something to tell you." Guinevere said from her spot next to Lancelot, trying to warm herself up with the fire. "In _private_."

She saw Guinevere nudge her head to the side, and gazing in that direction, Vrena saw her aunt Fulcinia with a worried look on her face, waiting. Vrena forced herself up, and was amazed at how better she felt already. Yes, her head was killing her, but she was warm from the fire and not as wet anymore.

She followed Fulcinia, wondering what could be making the woman look so full of dread. But Fulcinia immediately stopped in her tracks as Lucan emerged from one of the lady serf's care, running towards the bandaged Dagonett. Her aunt turned around, obviously thankful for the distraction. Guinevere stood up quickly, though,and advanced toward her.

"If she won't tell you, I will." Said thewoad warrioras she grabbed Vrena's wrist and walked quickly away from any close earshot; whatever they needed to tell her was clearly a secret. They stopped right in front of the wagon that customarily carried Lucan, Guinevere, and herself.

"They found her near the cliff while we were fighting. They think she jumped, but still aren't sure...apparently your aunt decided to keep her instead of leave her be." Guinevere explained, receiving a curious look from Vrena.

"_Who_?" She asked. She didn't know many people that both her and her aunt knew. But without further ado, Guinevere grimaced and pulled back the curtain of the wagon.

Vrena let out a scream of shock that seemed to echo inside the entire forest, nearly jumping back a foot once she recognized the unconscious, bruised body- which turned out to be none other then Vejha. She saw that there were five long, bloody scrapes on each side of her face, which she had probably done herself with her fingernails. And she was _breathing_. Vrena began to panic, not knowing whether that was good or horrible. Fear churned up inside her, along with anger. _Once Vejha woke, god knows what would happen! She was crazy, a madwoman!_

She ran with all the speed in her towards the fire, where Gawain and another man had returned with nearly five hares each, brown ones that were easily spotted in the snow. She knew that as she walked quickly forward, she looked furious. _How couldFulcinia possibly keep her here, knowing she wants me dead?_

She stopped a few feet from her aunt, who was looking at her with sorrowful eyes, unlike the curious ones of everyone else. Fists clenched, she resisted falling to her knees and punching the ground, and instead began to yell.

"What the _HELL_ is she _doing_ here?"Vrena shouted loudly, so that nearly everyone was stairing at her now. '_Way to go, draw more attention to yourself then needed..._' she scolded herself mentally, then closed her eyes and let herself intake air as Fulcinia tried to explain.

"She is too bad a shape to get up and murder you, dear. You should not worry about it so much, calm yourself." She was surprised with her aunt's sudden urge to fight back instead of drift away. But the answer only made her mood worse, and she clenched her fists harder.

"How am I supposed to be _calm_ while my _murderer_ is no more then thirty feet away, enlighten me!" Vrena spat through tightened teeth. At this comment, the knights –excluding the still sound-asleep Lancelot- gave her an odd look. She knew they were aware of who she was speaking of, for they had seen her sister while in Tirth.

When Fulcinia did not respond, and instead turned back to the Lucan in her lap, Vrena stormed off and kicked the side of a wagon as hard as she could- making it shake only a bit, then stormed off into the dark woods. She walked, and did not stop- even though she knew she was sick and cold again, and would most likely get lost.

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Vejha could hear a familiar voice screaming from far away, shouting at someone. Her mind thought _Vrena_, but then she was not sure. _Was her sister here? Was she alive? Was it her sister whom had saved her?_

She tried to move her limbs, but cried in pain when they refused to budge. The only things she could move were her arms, which ached with every inch sheshifted them.

'_That's right, I jumped off the cliff, and of course I'm probably paralyzed from the waste down._' She thought to herself.

She forced her eyes open and looked around. Her head was still mobile, thank god. That meant that her legs were not paralyzed, possibly either broken or merely stunned from the shock of her landing. She was inside a wagon, and the entrance was draped with a long blanket to prevent one from looking in. The only light was coming from the front opening, which wasn't much. She was inside a forest...that much she could tell.

Using all the energy her arms could muster, she pushed the upper-half of her body off the ground and leaned onto the wooden wall, panting for breath. She tried to move her leg again, and this time succeeded; thus rewarded with more pain searing through her whole being, but she held her scream. She didn't want anyone to hear her.

Vejha was now comforted with the fact that her body -excluding her left leg, which she confirmed was broken after trying to move- was fine, except for some bruises.

The fall must not have been as high as she thought- if it was, she would probably be dead right now, that she knew. She wanted to apologize so badly to her sister…tell her that she was fine, that she was normal again, that she had driven out the madness within her. It was a miracle.

This in her head, she scooted forward on the wooden floor of the carriage, and didn't even bother with moving away the curtain as her legs slid off the side. She remembered not to land on her left leg, and put all the pressure onto the right, which was not any better…but this pain she could deal with.

Her whole body out of the wagon, she leaned against the side for what seemed like ages as she scanned the world around her.

There were many horses and wagons such as the one she had been in, lots of luggage. This was obviously a traveling caravan. Had they found her where she lie dying and take her into their care? But then, she had no idea who these people might be. Her ears caught wind of a crackling fire, and she finally noticed how cold she was.

She was clothed in nothing but a grey dress usually worn among the women in Tirth.

_Tirth_…it seemed as if the whole time she had been there was a dream and nothing more. She didn't even remember most of it _up until trying to_…she let the thought escape her head, one she did not want to think about just now.

Limping on her one good leg and clinging to anything she could find, she made her way closer to the fire.

But as it came into view, she froze in her tracks. So did the many people around it, who seemed as shocked as she was. A memory flickered in her head, the memory of the night her mad self had re-captured her sister. _There were knights_, she remembered. _They had captured her and given her back_…something of the sort. And…_bloody hell, these were them_! She recognized each of them, including her aunt Fulcinia, and a woman she did not recognize.

She knew she looked in awful shape...but the looks of shock these people, even her aunt, were giving her…as if she had done something wrong. '_Dear god, they know I tried to kill Vrena…think; think…if Fulcinia is here, she probably heard from those men what I had done!_' Vejha was now frightened, just standing there leaning against a tree, frozen like a rabbit caught in a snare.

"_Vejha!_" She heard her aunt say aloud, and removed the child that was on her lap, standing up quickly. _No! She had to get out of here, right now, or she would surely be executed!_ No doubt even the meek aunt she remembered from so far back would be furious with her!

Her breath quickened and she leaned onto the tree, forcing hergood leg to run as fast as it could…it was pitiful, how she was attempting to run with a broken leg.

But she had only retreated about three steps towards the darkness of the woods as her aunt ran quickly toward her, along with the aid of two knights. One had long blonde hair, the other she recognized as their commander. When Fulcinia reached her, Vejha did not know if her aunt's eyes were sad with fear or hatred. Falling to her knees, she quickly gave in, giving them no reason to handle her roughly.

She expected a sword to stab her…or an arrow to pierce her…but neither came.

Instead, she felt her aunt stop the two knights in their tracks, and bend to pick her up from the ground. They rose slowly, and she now saw that it was neither fear nor hatred in Fulcinia's eyes…but worry.

"She is not armed. Let us get her towards the fire." Her aunt's quiet voice rang loud, and the knights who had came over moved back a few steps, allowing them to pass.

Without a word or any form of struggle, she let her aunt guide her over to the fire and sit her down on the ground. Across from it, she could see one of the men was stirring in his sleep, but then yawned loudly, pushing his upper body into a sitting position. He shot her a curious look, and then looked to the men around him for some explanation.

She saw that another man, large and strong looking was resting on the ground as well, his shoulder and leg bandaged in fresh cloth- and she saw some blood seeping through. She quickly averted her gaze back to the fire. She dare not look any of these men in the eye.

There was a long silence, and for that time everyone seemed to be lost in his or her own thoughts.

"What happened to you, Vejha?" Her aunt asked quietly from her side, as she continued to look into the blazing reds and oranges of the hearth in front of her. At first, her mind could not grasp the answer. So she spoke slowly, knowing that she best choose her words wisely, because everyone was listening.

"I…not even I am sure. Everything was fine, and then…_it wasn't_. I didn't have control over myself." She said more to herself then to her aunt.

"Fulcinia, I went _mad_. Most of the things I have done up until I threw myself from the top of a cliff, I cannot recall. It was as if I had not a single bit of control over my own thoughts, not even my own _body_…but…when I awoke in the snow…I felt real again, as if I had not been before." She continued, and then turned her head from the fire to face her aunt. "Like it _never happened_."

She did not know if they understood what she was talking about, she wasn't even sure if she herself knew. But it was the only way she could explain it.

"If sorrow and fret drove me into that madness, I fear for the next time such emotions enter my mind, for I do not know what may come of it. How is…" she paused, "How is my sister?" Vejha asked, turning back to the fire, grasping the fabric of her skirts tight in her hands.

"She was just here a while ago. Ran off when she found out you were here." Replied the same blonde haired man from before, who was slicing up a rabbit and sticking the meat onto a stick to be roasted.

Well, that was it. Her sister had seen her, and ran off. Her own sister, the one she wished comfort from this very moment, had run far from her. Vejha felt a hot tear stream down her cheek, and could not hold in her sadness any longer.

Sobs began emerging from her throat, and she let herself become absorbed in her sorrow. She felt Fulcinia's hand rest on her shoulder, but it did not comfort her. She needed Vrena to know that she was sorry for everything and anything she had done.

"I d-don't remember _anyth-hing_!" She yelled through cries, bending over to hide her face from view, her shoulder-length hair sticking to her wet cheeks.

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"Tristan." Arthur spoke in his usual tone when he needed something done. "Go retrieve this ladies sister. Do not return until you find her."

Tristan looked up to his commander, and was more then glad to get away from the scene. After listening to this girl Vejha's reason for trying to get her sister killed, he was not quite sure if he believed it or not. But he would follow his orders.

Looking at the ground, he examined the direction Vrena had gone in, and looked closely at the dirt. Finding some of the earth crunched and some twigs broken, hedistinguished her path and followed it. Hopefully she hadn't wandered too far, woods could be dangerous at night.

Even to this very moment in time, he was still not sure of his feelings towards the woman. When he was with her, it wasn't clear to him how she felt. She always seemed frightened and timid, except when he would say something out of line and she would boot him in the leg.

He felt an attraction to her that he had never had with any other woman before...She was different from the rest he had ever seen or met, by _far_. For so long he had cared about nothing but fighting along side the other knights…it was his life, his skill. He could win a fight against almost any man alive. But when she was near, those thought seemed to loose themselves.

Continuing to follow the path she had taken, he noted that she had wandered farther then he had thought. But at last, he caught sight of her, sitting on the cold ground, alone.

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She didn't know where she was now. It was getting dark, and less light shone through the tall trees. Vrena now regretted running off without thinking of the consequences.

Annoyed, she sat herself onto the earth, and quickly turned her head as the crunching of snow under feet came closer. She felt her heart beat faster as Tristan emerged through the trees, obviously searching for her.

"Arthur requests your presence." He spoke as he walked over to her, kneeling down to her side. His hair was braided and wild, as usual, and for a second she found herself laughing- he raised an eyebrow is curiosity, and she quickly apologized.

"_Sorry_, sorry. It's just…" She paused and tugged hard at one of his braids, laughing some more. "It's so fascinating."

But as quickly as she had let out her last chuckle, she returned to her somber self, and sighed aloud. "The question is _not_ will I come at Arthur's command, but do I have a reason to go back?"

"You do not have a _choice_. I have hauled you around once today, I can easily do it again."

"Is that a threat?"

"Never said it wasn't."

"So first you insult me, and now you want to make _threats_?" Vrena inquired, shooting him a harsh glare. Honestly, he was charming, but their personalities clashed like fire and water…and neither seemed to know which element the other was.

"If you would cease to be incredibly stubborn, I wouldn't have to use them." He retorted calmly, remaining cool and collected.

"Well then, what if I say I refuse to move from this spot? Let **him** come to** me**." She said pretentiously, not moving an inch, head held high. But she had not planned on what to do after that. Nor did she have the time to, because the scout had stood up and grabbed her by the waist, hauling her over his shoulder. She let out a yelp of shock as he began moving back towards the way he had come.

"You _bastard!_ Put me _down!_" She yelled at him, but it was no use. He simply held onto her waist tighter as he carried her through the woodland. She pounded him on his back hard once, but to no avail. Like such a blow would affect him, anyways. She tried to kick, but his other arm held down her legs. She was out of ideas.

"Once you put me down, I _swear _on fire, water, air, and stone that you will _regret_ what you have done, you…" But no words came to her, and she gave up completely.

"If you want to know, he sent me to retrieve you because your sister has woken up." Tristan spoke as he led them closer and closer to the caravan. But he stopped in his tracks for a few seconds, and then put her feet back onto the ground, a serious look on his face.

"She's…_awake_? Walking _around_? Not _asleep_?" Vrena's voice grew stressful and panicky. _He was leading her right into the hands of her sister?_ She watched him as he drew a quick breath, then tilted his headdown to meet her eyes. She had never noticed how tall he was.

"Your aunt asked her why she did what she had done to you. I can tell you that from what I heard, she claims to have no memory of anything, and declares to have escaped madness itself. She was crying before I left." He explained, now looking off to the side, where moonlight had begun to shine through the trees, casting an eerie glow around them.

Vrena looked to the ground and thought hard. _Vejha has no memory of what she did? But what if she was lying? But then, what if she was telling the truth?_ She raised her hand and massaged her temples, her headache that had disappeared for a while now returning.

"The only thing you can do now is speak with her, and hope that she is not telling false words. None of us will let you come to harm." He said, and she detected a hint of comfort in his usual strong voice. She wanted to thank him, embrace him right here, but she knew she should not. She was…_scared_ to, dare she admit it.

"Fine, lead the way." She said, allowing him to walk in front of her.

It was going to be a long night.

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* * *

- 

Guinevere watched as Tristan and Vrena emerged from the woods. The woman froze as she and her sister made eye contact, but her face softened as she noticed the tears and hopeful look onVejha's face. Maybe things would go well, maybe all of this would crash and burn. For here, it all depended on how Vrena dealt with it.

_She_ for one, had not seen this girl prove herself to not be sane. She did not know if her story was the truth or not, but they were about to find out, and there was no better judge here then Vrena.

Vrena and Vejha both held eye contact for what seemed like ages, simply studying the other, as if they could read the other like a book. Lancelot handed Vrena a stick of rabbit meat they had finished scorching over the fire, and she gladly took it, eating it quickly.

Most of the Serfs were asleep now, some in wagons, some in makeshift beds. It was the nine of them who were surrounding the small fire now; but Dagonett had not stirred sinceVrena had wrapped his wounds, which was beginning to worry all of them. If he did not wake soon…that would be bad.

Guinevere had zoned out as Vrena began to talk, and it seemed she had drifted away into a dazed state. She could hear all of the words spoken between the two siblings, some sharp and some soft, but she was not awake nor asleep to hear them. She then heard laughing…coming from men and women. Lancelot had made a joke that had sent everyone into hysterics, and she snapped out of her daze to find herself lying on the ground, the fire lower then it was before.

When she sat up, she did not see Vrena or Vejha around the fire, only the knights and herself. Fulcinia was also missing.

"Welcome back." Arthur said to her as she rubbed her eyes sleepily. She quickly scanned the area for the missing people, and found that all three of them were sitting far away from the fire, sitting in a circle. They looked almost insubstantial, bathed in the moon's glow where a large opening in the trees shone down like a white sun. The three women seemed to be in deep conversation, and she regretted dozing off. Another new thing was that Vejha's injured leg was now in a splint. _She had indeed slept through most the night!_

Looking to Tristan, she saw that his eyes were fixed on Vrena closely, but lost contact as a loud squeal from a hawk penetrated the air overhead. Looking up, she heard Tristan whistle and hold out his forearm. The large bird flew down through the thick trees and landed gracefully on his arm, resting its wings, belly full from the night's hunt. Guinevere caught Arthur's gaze for a split second, then turned to Dagonett. _He still had not woken_.

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From her spot next to her sister and Fulcinia, Vrena could see Guinevere looking at Dagonett's motionless body with a worried look on her face. She had a good reason to be worried, too. If someone did not wake from unconsciousness after a certain amount of time…that could be bad.

Allowing Vejha and Fulcinia time to talk more about things such as sewing, embroidery, and otheractivities that did not interest her, she stole away towards Dagonett, and the knights watched as she kneeled down next to him.

Everyone had gone silent as she checked his neck for a pulse. Finding one, she sighed with relief, but that did not meaneverything wasfine yet. Some of the knights grimaced at her worried look, and Bors began to look concerned.

"What is it?" He asked her as she tapped Dagonett's knee to see if his reflexes were working. But when she did, nothing happened. No movement, nothing. For the millionth time it seemed, she placed her fingers to her temples, not wanting to give the bad news to the knights whom had finally began to brighten up. But whether she wanted to or no, she knew she had no choice.

"He should have woken up by now. When someone acquires wounds such as these and looses consciousness, and they do not regain it within an extended period of time…" She paused and took a breath, not wanting to tell them this.

"It could mean that the wounds were deep enough to hit something vital, which might have triggered something in the brain to stop working. I remember learning something about it back when I was a child, and have seen it happen before." She finished, cupping her hands and resting her elbows on her knees.

"How can you be sure? What if yer head's scrambled it an' confused it with somethin' else?" Bors asked, hoping that she would agree, but she knew she could not. She remembered her teachings clearly enough.

"There is no way I know of to be sure. But if he does not wake up soon…there is nothing more I can do." She said regretfully, wishing that there was something she **could **do to wake Dagonett up, shake him out of it. But if she was right, then all odds were against her. Bors gave her a disgusted look, and turned to face the dying flames of the hearth, now ignoring everything and anything.

"You shouldn't be looking so glum" Fulcinia spoke as her and Vejha joined them. "It is probably the best way to die." _Yes, way to go Fulcinia. Make the mood worse then it already is_. But something in her aunt's voice told her that she was speaking the truth.

"He 'aint gonna die." Bors said harshly.

"I hate to be the bringer of bad news, but it is indeed possible. I have seen many die this way, including my own brother-in-law." She spoke again, catching Vrena's and Vejha's attention.

"Our father?" Vejha asked curiously. Vrena was happy to see her sister so much like her old self, not like the insane woman she had seen back in Tirth.

"Indeed, I remember it so vividly. Your poor mother cried for weeks. For three days he remained such as this. I do not know the cause for it, or why it happens only to some, but your father was a proud man who would rather be burned to death then die while asleep. So on the third day, your mother carried out his wish, and allowed him to die the death he wanted. It was the only thing she could have done to make him happy." Fulcinia told the sad story, the new information flowing into Vrena's mind. She absorbed every bit of it.

"Well, that's a happy ending, I suppose." Vejha sighed, laying herself down onto the ground where the fire had melted the snow, warming the ground beneath her.

Having no warm blankets besides Tristan's cloak that was draped around her shoulders, she huddled closer to the fire and lay down beside her sister, enjoying the heat of the flames.

"Vrena, you should sing us a song again. Put me to sleep, a lullaby or something." Lancelot begged, and then everyone started to ask for a song. She wished she could disappear, but thenFulcinia spoke up.

"Both of you, _sing_. Sing the tune you use to sing to me all those years ago, the one in that strange language I cannot understand." Fulcinia requested, and Vrena could tell that now Vejha was nervous about being dragged into her problem.

"In French? I remember it." Vrena spoke, twirling her fingers in the grass. She would be less tense if Tristan had not been there, he had notheared her sing before.

"I remember, but I forgot what it all meant…took us years to remember it, and here I've gone andlost italready…" Vejha said, laying herself onto her back, Vrena doing the same. They both looked up to the sky, or what they could see of it through the trees.

"As long as you take the higher part, I'll do it." Vrena bargained. Usually they would switch off with different octaves for the old French song, but she was too choked up right now to think about it.

There was a silence, and Vejha tapped her hand on the ground to give Vrena the beat, and they both started at once, the lower and higher octave blending together nicely, considering they had not sung together like this for a while. It was a chorale-like French tune, solemn and mysterious to those who did not speak the language.

_"la chanson viennent à, la chanson viennent avec,  
la chanson me chantent du temps et du mythe_

_Envoyez vos couleurs dansant par l'air d'or  
envoyez les chansons au soleil avec vos cheveux d'or_

_vision vibrante dans les mots que vous apportez  
votre douleur noient le froid qui pique_

_plus fort votre sain, plus doux votre douleur  
votre royaume d'or, perdu sous la pluie_

_peut le jour viennent quand votre voix chante à tous  
peut le jour viennent quand vos ennemis tombent_

_jusqu'à ce jour où je vous prie pourrait  
pour chanter le sprite toujours libre et d'or_

_La vie et la mort vous bénissent avec être immortel  
jusqu'à ce que le moment vient quand vous devez prendre le congé_

_vivez dessus avec vos chansons  
vivez dessus avec vos chansons  
chantez votre chanson à la douleur  
chantez votre chanson à la vie_

_la chanson viennent à, la chanson viennent avec,  
la chanson me chantent du temps et du mythe"_

-

* * *

- 

That morning as Vrena woke, she sat up to see Arthur praying at Dagonett's side, and Bors shouting loudly, angry and upset…she could swear Galahad looked like he was about to cry.

Dagonett was dead.

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Yea, yea. I think this is officially the worst chapter ever. I **hated** it. Pray hard I can find the motivation for the next one xP…I would have been better off splitting it in half too, it took me so long to write…

By the way…I'm sorry for stalling Dagonett's death. You see…the next chapter would be too happy and cheery if he just woke up and lived happily ever after. It would have ruined the emotion. And someone was going to have to die the next chapter if he didn't, so there was no avoiding it. I'm sorry! ;-;

And if you're wondering about the song, all I can say is…

**Seig heil, Babelfish.**

And here's the translation if you're the curious type:

"_song come to, song come with  
song sing to me of time and myth_

_Send your colors dancing through the golden air  
send songs to the sun with your golden hair_

_vibrant vision in the words you bring  
your sorrow drown the cold that stings_

_louder your sound, softer your pain  
your golden kingdom, lost in the rain_

_may the day come when your voice sings to all  
may the day come when your enemies fall_

_until that day I pray you might  
sing ever free, golden sprite_

_Life and death bless you with immortal being  
until the time comes when you must take leave_

_live on with your songs,  
live on with your songs,  
sing your song to pain,  
sing your song to life_

_song come to, song come with  
song sing to me of time and myth_"

**III Cari III**


	17. Aftermath

**_Katemary77_**- XD s'ok, a few times as I've been writing, I've accidentally confused Vrena and Vejha as well.

_**Dw**_- There will be some romance in this chapter, more in the next, and I'm planning on a massload (like, extra large Kentucky friend chicken bucket size) of romance in chapter 19 :3

**_Lovebuggy_**- ;-; I'm sorry! I'm gonna try to make it up to you guys with these next two chapters. Hopefully there will be enough romance to please you!

**_Siopao_**- XD become an insomniac like me, and you won't ever miss an update. And…whoa. I didn't know you could review the same chapter twice…I thought they like…blocked your IEP address or what-not.

**_Tenshikoneko03_**- Killing of Tristan would kill the story XD…and I can tell you, Lancelot will live, and he'll be in someone's eternal debt.

**_Etraya_**- XD I'll try to please you guys this chapter!

**_Sarah_**- Vejha won't become the main character EVER, because…well…read this chapter. :P

**_Perberaidien_**- Lots more fluffiness to come, believe me. :3

_**SpectralLady**_:P I love writing my Tristan/Vrena scenes. These last few chapters I've been just…explaining things, so there wasn't much action, but trust me…Vrena and Tristan will hook up soon!

**_Ecellegreenleaf_**- The lyrics to the song I wrote myself, then babel-fished the hell out of them XD…

**_Lenao_**- I'm glad you agree with me on Dagonett's death, and yea…translated, the song gets kinda messed up because you should never rely on internet translators. Heh…I should have come to you and asked YOU to translate it XD…say, if you translate it the right way for me (the English lyrics are at the bottom), I'll add some extra fluff next chapter :D

**_Gondorian Archer_**- ok, ok XD Glad you like it!

**_Esther'nEra-guardians-ofChaos_**- Yea, I know :X

**_Op_**- I'm sorry you hate me now ;; -sniff-

**_Calliann_**- Wish granted :P I added in a good 'from Tristan's POV' part near the end.

**_Babak_**- That scene will be near the end of this chapter :P

**_ElvenStar5_**- Glad someone still loves me XD…

**_RainySunshine_**- I would never kill off Tristan O.O…that would make me a really bad authoress.

**_Liduina_**- Sorry again for killing him ;-;…there will be ubber fluff soon!

**AHEAD-OF-TIME WARNING:** Chapters 18 and 19 WILL without a doubt contain fluffness beyond normal amount of fluffness. Just wanted to give you a hit :P

**To the people who hate my guts and want me dead after the chapter 16 incident**: Please understand that as an authoress person, it is my duty to write a good story. I wouldn't have killed Dag off if it _would not benefit the story_ somehow. And if I would have let him live…**imagine** how…_undemonstrative_ and _impassionate_ the story would be! Everyone would be happy and cheery in this chapter, and that would really ruin the whole concept of the movie. Please understand, if Dagonett would have miraculously lived…this story would be so dull, all the intelligent people who review would abandon me, and I would have had to kill myself (don't take that too seriously.) So again, I am sorry!

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**Chapter 17- Aftermath**

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It was late that night Vejha had woken up with a jolt, gasping for breath. She looked around- the fire was out, everyone was asleep, resting their minds and bodies. Except her. She felt like she had just run a mile, panting heavily,dreaming as if she was watching herself from a distance, paying no attention to her own thoughts.

'_No. I just…had a bad dream. I just need more time to wake up, come to my senses. I'll be fine._' She tried to reassure herself.

But after a while, the sensation of being apart from her body grew stronger...and she heard a looming voice she wished away only a day ago, coming back to haunt her. She felt her mind spin and she became confused, the sound echoing through her mind…

**_Kill her, she is so close, she does not deserve life. None of them do. Kill them all._**

She began to panic, realizing that her body was trembling in the cold, reaching for the dagger she kept hidden underneath her skirts.

'_No! Not now, not ever! Leave me be!_' she tried to convince herself, but now the voice was overpowering, scrambling her head in all directions…she could not think for herself anymore, as if she was dreaming again.

She faintly saw the glimmering dagger in the moonlight, and her sister's sleeping form beside her, pale from fever and cold. _No, stop yourself! She is your only sister!_

But as she aimed the dagger, she felt a sharp pain in her ribs, and instantly snapped back to her own body, waking up from what seemed like a nightmare; a sharp pain engulfing her mind as she recognized the red flowing from her dress where the arrow had pierced.

Across from the dead fire, she saw the man from earlier, the one who had brought Vrena back from the woods. His bow was still in the air, prepared. But Vejha could not feel anger inside her…instead, she felt joyful. Joyful, relieved, and proud. Indeed, she had been wrong. _She could not overpower madness_. All she had done was spared herself some time with her sister. And this man, one of the knights…his hair braided and uneven, tattoos on his cheek bones, war markings…eyes were unemotional and tired. '_Had he been up all night protecting my sister from me?_'

No one else had woken up at the noiselessness of their movements, but the man stood up and put another arrow to his bow, and at first Vrena thought that he would release it onto her again…but he aimed it towards the forest, where Vejha turned to see a cloaked figure, followed by none other then the Merlin himself, and the girl from earlier who had been sitting near the fire.

"Lower your weapon, Knight of the Round Table." Merlin spoke in his old, creaky voice. She barely remembered him; she had heard him onlyonce, from when she and her sister were small children.

Turning her gaze back to the arrow stabbed into her ribs, she could feel no pain. _That_ she had already wasted so much of, there was none left to feel. She felt like a child again, as the cloaked woman walked up to her and kneeled by her side. The woman lowered her hood, revealing a familiar face- a face she remembered she had screamed at for answers of her past not too long ago…Vejha remembered that she had tracked this woman down, and threatened her until she told her the truth about the massacre, all those fifteen years ago.

"N-_Naeda_…" She heard herself weep quietly, and the brown-haired, elderly woman put a finger to her lips and hugged her tight, trying hard not to touch the arrow, that seemed to be seeping life from her with even second that passed.

"_Shh._ We do not want to wake anyone, child." Naeda hushed her. Vejha weakly nodded, a smile forming on her lips, and she began to feel weak, shaking…the arrow was indeed seeping her life from her, pouring it out in the color red, staining her dress. The man who had shot her with the arrow lowered his bow silently, still glaring at the Merlin.

"Rest well, my child, for you will not wake." Spoke the aged Naeda, stroking her cheek. Vrena closed her eyes, obeying as she always did. Silently to herself, she whispered goodbye to her sister; to all those she had let fall to harm because of herself, whom had lost the battle of sanity, and now lay dying on the earth, as she should have earlier.

She could not see, but she felt a presence move from across her. Not that of the man who had saved Vrena from death, but the commander…what was his name? _Arthur_. She had no idea how she knew this- but as the light seemed to slip from her, she knew that was his name.

She could see white, as if everything was glowing, even though she knew it was deep into the night. She heard her voice creak as her lungs stopped, and something in her mind sedated her as her body ceased movement, weeping with the joy of freedom. She felt herself slip away, slowly…

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* * *

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Guinevere watched as Vejha's body went limp in Naeda's motherly arms. Arthur had woken from the noise, but no one else stirred from their slumber asthe womanlifted Vejha from the ground, and strode over towards the Merlin. Naeda was the first to disappear into the woods, Guinevere and the old man staying behind. The sun was about to rise over the snowy hills, and by afternoon today, she had no doubt they would make it to the wall…the mission would be completed, but the war not over.

"Tell Vrena that her sister has left. She will understand." Merlin spoke to Arthur, who was still studying the scene. But he finally nodded, andlet theMerlin leave.The leader of the Woadslooked towards her, but she stood still; letting her body language tell him that she was staying put. The old man smiled, turned, and left.

Looking at the motionless body of Dagonett, Guineverewalked towards him and kneeled, placing her two fingers to his neck. Finding no pulse, she looked up to Arthur and Tristan. The sun was now riding over the hills, illuminating everything with a golden glow. They did not need to ask to know that Dagonett was gone.

Arthur kneeled himself down next to Dagonett and held his hands together in the Christian prayer he was reciting. Tristan -_whom she could not tell was truly dispassionate at this point or simply doing a good job to hide it_- walked over to a nearby tree and leaned his back onto it, crossing his arms and bowing his head.

Her head turned as Lancelot sat up to see his friend praying next to the immobile body. A passive facial expression turned to one of fury and annoyance. Pushing himself from the ground, he trotted off into the woods without a word to any of them. Galahad was the next to wake; followed by Bors, who had no sooner started to yell and shout at all of them, eyes filled with pain and fury.

Time seemed to fly for Guinevere and soon _everyone_ was awake. Arthur was still kneeling next to Dagonett's body, which was now covered with a blanket, and the small Lucan was crying into Fulcinia's arms.

Vrena had woken up with her aunt, and at once looked around for the missing Vejha. Still wrapped in his cloak, she walked over to Tristan, and the two walked towards the woods in the direction Lancelot had gone a while before. _No doubt he was going to tell her what happened, and would not appease the truth for her._

Timedrifted by faster then ever as many of the serfs began to re-load everything to the wagons; one of them which carried Dagonett's body, now covered completely from view. Tristan and Vrena had returned, with Lancelot close behind, still obviously filled with anger that was by no means secretive. Vrena's eyes were red, but that could have just been from her fever the day before. Nevertheless, the woman mounted her white steed, which seemed to be the onlything happy at the time; swishing his tail and neighing in delight.

Packed and ready, the Caravanedged closer to Rome. But that would not end their journey.

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After hours of endless riding, they at last came to the wall, and the gates creaked open in welcome.

Vrena looked to Tristan as they dismounted their horses,as a richly-clothed Roman man came forward- a happy smile on his face. Vrena saw _nothing_ to be happy about. Right when she had begun to trust Vejha again, again she was torn away.

Tristan told her the entire truth of what had happened before she awoke. Vrenadid not know whether she should be furious or thankful that he had brought down her sister, whom had been over her body with a dagger. So she decided on both, since they seemed equally suitable for the occasion. But he had also told her that a lady named Naeda came with the Merlin, and took her sister into the woods. She did not know _what_ to think of this. She had not seen or spoken to Naeda in so many years, it seemed believable that the whole time her mother's friend had been among the Woads.

Though she was angry with him, _another side of her wished that she could hold him, tell him how she felt_. She wished that he would let her cry in his arms, let all her sorrows pour from her. But she withdrew from that thought as the wealthy man began to speak.

"Ah! _Good_! Christ be praised! Against all the odds Satan could _possi_-" But the priestly man halted his words as Alecto advanced forward from one of the wagons.

"Alecto! Let me see you!" The man continued to ramble, but Alecto did not seem pleased to be near this man who kept speaking in holy babbles. Even Vrena found it annoying, and heaved a sigh as the man patted Alecto on the shoulder.

From where she was, Vrena watched as Lucan ran forward from his own wagon, and searched frantically for Dagonett's body. Finding it, he ran quickly towards it. Vrena's blood boiled as two Roman guards flung themselves in front of him, nearly knocking him over. She saw Galahaddraw his sword; without delay, she let out a "_yah!_" as she slapped one of Arvin's hind legs hard. She loved how smart her horse was.

With the command, Arvin ran forward towards the soldiers.

Seeing the giant horse galloping towards them, they released Lucan and moved quickly out of the way, only to have Arvin chase one of them throughout the crowd of people. _Served him right_. The rich pastoral man gave her a glare, and she quickly whistled for Arvin to return to her, which she did. The guard her trusty steedbeen chasing let out a breath of relief.

All eyes were on Lucan as he removed the large ring from one of Dagonett's fingers, keeping it for himself. This caused Vrena's heart to ache…_the poor orphaned boy had lost the only fatherly figure he had left_. Fulcinia ran over to him, Lucan grabbing hold of her hand.

"Great Knights. You are _free_ now! Give me the papers. Come, come!" The high ranking man laughed nervously. _If he was the one handing them their discharge papers, it meant that he was indeed a religious figure_. Probably a bishop. Those men were always trouble.

"Your papers of safe conduct throughout the Roman Empire! Take it, Arthur." He continued, and Arthur stepped forward. But he did not take the papers, only glared blankly at the man.

"Bishop Germanius. _Friend_ of my father." Arthur said through clenched teeth, holding his threatening gaze before breaking it and disappearing from sight, not taking the papers.

Lancelot walked over and irritably snatched all the rolls of parchmentfrom the finely embroidered box, and began handing them out to each knight.

"You are free. You can go!" ushered the Bishop, who seemed eager to get rid of them. Vrena felt her blood boil again; had she the chance, she would have released Arvin on **him** as well. But that was not a wise thing to do, lest she get arrested by the Roman church. Not a good thing.

Lancelot tried to hand Bors the paper, but the large man did not answer, simply glared at the parchment as if it was a snake ready to bite. Lancelot called his name twice, and Vrena knew that this must be hard for him; for _all_ of them. Finally, Bors took two small scrolls Lancelot had handed him- one for himself, one for Dagonett.

"This _doesn't_ make him a free man. He's already a free man!" Bors shouted at the Bishop and threw the papers to his feet, letting them soil in the dirt. "He's _dead_!"

And with that, he also stormed off. Vrena watched sadly as all of this happened. She observed with slight amusement as Tristan walked up to the Bishop and examined the box, then took it without word. He walked over to Bors and said something Vrena could not hear, and then Bors took the box from him. The knights all filed away from the crowd, heading towards a tavern. Vrena did not follow them. They needed time to themselves to wash away the pain of loss.

For the time being, she led Arvin to the stables. After brushing him for what seemed like hours, she walked outside to see that the sun was still high in the sky, shaded by the misty grey clouds that always seemed to cover this land. She started tofeel grouchy, tired from all the events that had placed themselves on her shoulders. True, she did not have to worry about Vejha any more; all she could do was mourn.

She heard loud noises coming from the town's tavern, where the six knights had gone after burying Dagonett's body. She did not go to _that_, either. Even though she had been friends with Dagonett, it would only make her feel like she was intruding on the others.

Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned to see Guinevere walk up to her.

"Am I intruding?" asked the woman. Vrena shook her head.

"No…I am just wandering about with my lonesome self." She said to Guinevere, her face still frowning and austere from theunbelievable day. But that face quickly disappeared as Guinevere told her why she had come to bother her.

"The Woads want to know if you will fire arrows along side them, when the time comes to battle the Saxons."

Vrena's jaw dropped at this. _Her? Fight along side Woads to fight off Saxons? When? Where?_ Guinevere quickly answered her unspoken questions.

"The battle at the ice was not the last. They will come again. Arthur has already agreed that he will fight, though will not ask his men for any further requests. You have _talent_ with it, you know. The bow." Guinevere tried to persuade her. Vrena was not all that sure of how to react…she was not sure if she could fight along side the people she had been forced to abandon all those years ago.

Before Guinevere could talk any more, however, Vrena's heart jumped into her throat as none other then Tristan strode towards them quickly, looking her strait in the eye.

"Arthur requests your company." He said seriously; though at this point, she did not feel like taking it that way.

"In a _bar_? Please tell me it is not the kind of company that just came to mymind." She glared. She felt rebellion rise up inside her, and knew that she was only refusing to move because it was _Tristan_ telling her too.

"Unless you _want_ it to be. Do I have to heave you over my shoulder again and force you in? I imagine how far the minds of the onlookers will wander at _that_." He said back, giving her no choice. She scowled, allowing herself to kick him in the leg as she passed him. She knew Guinevere was smirking inside, but would not show it.

She turned to Guinevere and asked if she wanted to follow, but the woman shook her head and walked off, allowing Tristan to lead her into the direction of the tavern.

They made it to the rusty door of the place, and Vrena grimaced.

She did **not** want to walk into a pit of drunken wild men, she was no _harlot_. She made a disgusted face, and drew back her hand that was reaching for the handle of the door. As always, Tristan came to her rescue and opened it, leading the way.

The smell of alcohol and other crude things flung into her senses as she followed him in, keeping close. It was indeed crowded, and looked as if all the men present in the town were here. _The sun had not even retreated below the hills, and here they were getting drunk already!_ Some men honestly made her want to wipe out the species.

She came into view of the table where the other five knights were sitting, all lost in their own kind of reverie. Some were indeed drunk; which included Lancelot, who had a woman perched on his leg. But that seemed normal, so she let it slip her mind. Galahad's head was resting on his arm, and he seemed asleep, a half-drunken mug of brew in front of him. Bors was anything _but_ sober, looking depressed and on his fifth mug, from the look at the five large empty containers on the table.

Gawain was calmly sipping his drink, along with Arthur. It seemed that Tristan had downed nothing as of yet, which she was happy for. Though deep in her subconscious, she giggled at the thought of a drunken Tristan.

She had been about to place herself onto one of the wooden stools as a man came from behind her, slapping her rear, causing her to jump in the air in alarm. Shock rapidly turned to anger, she spun around to see a ruffian who was_ indeed_ drunk, laughing along with a group of men from the other side of the crowded bar.

Vrena, not being the kind to **think** before she acts, threw her fist as fast and hard as she could towards the mans face, nearly knocking him onto the ground. Lucky for him, two men behind him caught him in time. She could hear Lancelot spit out his drink all over thefloor and Galahad lift up his head to see what had happened.

Vrena quickly scolded herself as the burly man got up quickly, shouting some obscene vulgarities that the authoress did not feel like spelling out, and lunged forward. Vrena was now powerless; she had made her mistake and would receive her consequence. She closed her eyes tightly, awaiting the pain.

But as the man was barely a foot away from her, a sword flashed in the dark candlelight of the bar, and he stopped in his tracks. Tristan had stepped in front of her, and was glaring harshly at the man.

The stranger, now knowing that he was dealing with a Knight of the Round Table, retreated quickly. Vrena shakily sat into her seat, silently thanking him for saving her from possibly death, _yet again_.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you not to start fights in pubs?" Lancelot slurred and took another large gulp of beer, the woman who was on his lap leaving to go sit with someone else. Vrena wasn't going to answer that question.

"I don't see why anyone would want to come in _here_ and drink that..._stuff_." She said, eyeing Lancelot's large mug of…_whatever_ it was. The man smirked and laughed, taking another large gulp.

"Tristan and you are morecomparable then I thought…" He said, but quickly got up from the table, nearly knocking his stool over. "If 'y don't mind me, I'd like to go find some pleasurable company. Tootles!"Lancelot chimed...but it was obvious the knight was trying to keep his mind away from _anything_ that reminded him of Dagonett.

Gawain mumbled something about him getting his ornaments smashed, but Lancelot ignored him and walked towards a group of barmaids, easily entering their conversation.

The table was silent, way back in a corner of the tavern. Loud noise was coming from all sides, and she dare admit it would only keep getting louder as the night progressed.

"Is there a reason you wanted me here?" Vrena asked, turning to Arthur. He merely glancedat herbefore turning back to his drink.

"We were curious as to where you will be headed after this is all over with. If I recall, your town wants you dead." He said honestly, sipping from his mug. Indeed he was right…_but dare she tell him that she would be joining him in the last fight to rid the Saxons from Rome and Briton?_ But wait…_when did she decide this?_ Vrena heaved a sigh. '_Just now, I guess…_'

"Maybe I'll stay here; maybe I'll head to the isles of Glastonbury, I've always wanted to impersonate a nun. Or I could live among the Woads, paint myself blue and run wild…I'm good at cheating, perhaps I could join the British Rogue…or the Roman Rogue…does the Roman church hire rogues?" Sheaswered sarcastically, knowing that she would do _none_ of these things. So _what_, she was having a bad day.

"Welcome to our world." Galahad said, holding up his mug as if to make a toast, but then sat it back down onto the table with a _clunk_.

"I'd love to return home. If it's still _there_. Word is that Saxons have been roaming in Sarmatia too." Gawain said.

"Well…that seems to throw us **all** off the same waterfall, doesn't it." Vrena said plainly. She had placed her elbows on the soiled wooden table, tugging at her long black hair, which wasn't helping its already catastrophic state.

She didn't dare look up from the table. _she would see Tristan, get nervous, and make up some excuse to leave_…which wouldn't help the fact that she was in a _bar_, and could be slapped on the arse by a drunken man at any given second.

"Interesting use of figurative language." Tristan said, leaning back into his chair, arms crossed.

"Interesting way to _make fun of me_." Vrena spat, her face now hidden beneath the darkness of her hair.

"Never said I was deliberately taunting you." He retorted. From the way her head was laying cheek-down on the table, she could barely make out his figure...but she knew he was as relaxed and impassive as ever. Indeed, she knew she should not fight with him- though he cared about people he knew, he _did_ have a sort of blood lust. Nevertheless, arguing with him seemed like their own way of bonding.

-

* * *

- 

"Well, don't act _too_ hard." Tristan heard her mutter quietly.

"Watch yourself." He warned her in the same tone, knowing that she had two choices now: to shut up, or argue back. From experience, he knew that she did not take his threats indecently.

He watched as she flung her head off the table, turning to face him. _Quite a twist of fate they were sitting right next to each other, where they **always** seemed to be when arguing_. His leg was no more then a few inches from hers, and knew he would be kicked at leasttwice tonight. Not that he didn't enjoy it.

"I'd like to see you lay a _finger_ on me!" …She was indeed testing his temper. Was she just fooling with him now, or was she serious? Either way, he decided to take her word of warning mockingly. He lifted one arm from its crossed position in front of him and tapped his finger on her head, causing her eyes to widen from an emotion he could not distinguish.

From down the table, Galahad and Gawain both laughed, and Arthur merely smiled. Bors was still downing himself in alcohol, on his seventh mug now. True, Tristan was saddened by the death of a friend and good warrior, but death was not something one should linger on. If there was one thing in the world that could be truthfully predetermined, it was that everyone eventually dies.

He let these thoughts linger as he felt Vrena's leg making contact with his, a hard kick no doubt, but one that didn't hurt. He watched as her face began to turn red at their sudden eye contact, and then threw her head quickly down onto the table again, allowing her wave-like hair to cover it.

He had to admit, he had _no clue_ what was going on in her head. If she was engrossed with him or not, that was a different story. It was quite obvious to him that she enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed hers- until one of them said something to offend the other, of course.

Such a time had been the night before, the first time he had heard her sing. He knew nothing about her singing before, though everyone else had already listened to her once. He wished he would have been there for it both times, because her voice was beautiful when she wasn't yelling. It was mesmerizing, how her voice in hymn could attract his attention. When Bors' lady Vanora sings, her voice does not captivate, it only speaks. But when this girl sang, it was like listening to a divinity of some sort.

"Hones'ly, the two 'o you fight like a married couple. One reason I'm tryin' to avoid that d'cision..." Bors spoke in a drunken voice for the first time that evening, but he did not stop intake to look or listen to their response.

Vrena didn't move, thought for a few seconds, he could have sworn she stopped breathing. Him, on the other hand…had to _agree_. For once in his life, his mind was not just on fighting or bloodshed, or matters of the state.

For once, his thoughts had been captured and imprisoned by a woman. A woman who seemed to have no interest in him besides someone to argue with.

As if on queue, Vrena stood up quickly from her stool and didn't even look in his direction as shepushed open the door, escaping the tavern.

Everyone at the table seemed surprised as he waved over a barmaid andhelped himselfa mug of the alcohol, not taking his eyes from Bors direction the whole time. He wasn't the only one now that needed to rid his mind of a few things.

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- 

Well…I liked this chapter a lot more, mainly because I could get back to my traditional Vrena/Tristan-y stuff :D

That made me happy. Did it make you happy? I mean…I had to add some humor to this chapter, or it would be way too depressing and all of you would hate my guts.

Not like you already do.

III Cari III


	18. Temptation

**_Dw_**- Yay n.n Glad you're still hanging on. Coming up with good Tristan/Vrena stuff deprives my brain of oxygen sometimes, but other then that, it's all good!

**_Siopao_**- xD you were so close! Maybe next chapter you'll make it in time, because its 6 AM right now and we have off school for some odd reason. And yes, I know you're smexy and that I'm awesome xD

**_Calliann_**- I told you, even I get confused with Vrena and Vejha sometimes :X…last chapter is proof. And your anticipation has paid off, the fluff is here!

**_RainySunshine_**- o.o…That's a good question, I don't understand that term either.

**_Sarah_**- Gotta keep the tension going. If there was no tension, I would suck xP

**_Babak_**- Some interesting ideas you have there, I might even use them if I remember to xD…that would indeed be a sight to see, him having to throw her over his shoulder to get her up to the altar :P

**_Op_**- yay! Dude:D

**_katemary77_**- Lotsa fluff in this chapter :P

**_Perberaidien_**- Yea. I try to make Vrena as un-Mary-sue-ish as possible. Its very hard for someone to write a fanfic with an OC character that doesn't turn out to be Mary-sue, it's a hard feat to accomplish.

**_Lenao_**- Thank you so much for re-translating the song! I plan to fix that chapter once I'm done with the story…that might be a while, but I'll get to it :D

**_Gondorian Archer_**- o.o ok ok.

**_Juju_**- Yay! Compliments in a different language! This makes me so cool :P

**_Liduina_**- Thanks :D

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**Chapter 18- Temptation**

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Vrena had wandered around most of the small town before deciding to rest. She didn't know how long it had been since she was in the bar, and at the time did not care. Had Bors not made that quote, she would still be in there, no doubt. After wandering for a while, the sky was getting darker, the sun slowly beginning to hide behind the earth.

She again went to visit Arvin, who swished his tail and stomped his hooves on the ground, demanding attention. She looked around to the other horses in the stable, and noticed that not many were akin to her own. Only a few cloud-white horses such as Arvin were visible. The long rows and pens consisted of many browns, grays, some furs leopard-like and some spotted only in a few areas. Not many were pure black, either.

While petting Arvin, her eyes wandered to a cloudy-colored horse in the pen just over, beautiful patterns of dark specks coating its body with exception of the head, the mane and tail a pure grey. Very beautiful, indeed.

When she neared it, it let out a grunt of awareness; but as she pet the creature's snout, it calmed itself and bent its head towards her, allowing her to continue stroke him.

The coat was soft as silk. Much softer then Arvin's, which was because her damned beast _always_ took the chance to prance around and roll in the dirt or grass whenever he got the golden opportunity.

Gazing at all the gear still saddled down to the animal, she wondered if the owner had simply forgotten to remove it all. Leaving it on for so long could irritate a horse, or perhaps they had been rushed about to do business and had not the time to tend to it? Either way, she saw no harm in unlatching everything, including the weapons from the fastener on the saddle, hanging the reigns and such in their selected places on the wooden posts near-by.

She then examined the weaponry she had detached from the saddle. One was a long steel sword…finely designed, and she felt her spine shiver as she saw stains of blood visible on the metal as she unsheathed it. She quickly tucked it back into its scabbard and put it off to the side. The last weapon that wasn't hidden was a bow…a bow that seemed slightly familiar, she knew she had _seen_ it somewhere before.

She gulped.

A _Sarmatian_ bow.

Her head shot back up to the horse, to the sword, and back to the bow again.

Bloody hell, it was _Tristan's_ horse!

She started to panic, and tried to calm herself from the sudden realization that _she was taking care of the horse that belonged to the man she acted as if she hated!_ But then, **act** may be an extreme underestimate. She had vowed not to give anyone hint of her feelings, yet in situations such as their last, she could not control herself. She allowed herself to examine these things as his horse swished its head, wanting to be rubbed again. As she stoked the beautiful thing, she began to reflect more about its owner. Her emotions were always mixed around him, and she felt _trapped_…she had never once fallen for a man. To her, they seemed dumb and dull, thinking of nothing but war and women.

But Tristan was _none_ of those things. He did not chase after everything and anything that had a pretty dress like Lancelot did; he did not make crude, mannish jokes like the other knights…he was exceedingly diverse from them _all_, now that she thought of it.

Everywhere she went, she was always thinking of him and no one else. His wild and braided hair, the war tattoos high on his cheek bones, eyes as black as his horse's…all of it she knew she could not push away from her mind, no matter how hard she would try.

She moved out of the pen containing his steed and moved back over to Arvin's. She smiled at her horse, realizing in how much of a compassionate mood she was in now. She stoked Arvin's long neck and added a few braids into his white mane.

Her mind had slipped into a daze and before she knew it, the stables were lit with nothing but moonlight and a large candle sitting on a table, the flame bouncing off the wooden walls around it.

Vrena continued to pet Arvin, deciding that she would leave soon to get some food. She was starving; a good meal was something she could use right about now. But before she could think any further, Tristan's horse twisted in its stall to face her, holding out its head from over the wooden gate that separated the two pens. Sighing, she ceased to pet them both. If she was going to sit here and make them happy, she might as well be _comfortable_.

The small wooden fence between the stalls went up almost to her chest, but she could easily climb to the top of it. Knowing that it would hurt her arse, she hoisted herself onto the wood anyways and sat down, hoping that the gate was not unstable.

It ended up being thick, indeed. It was not uncomfortable at all sitting on top of it, letting her feet dangle onto Arvin's side of the divider.

Arvin and Tristan's horse both turned and moved their heads towards her, and she began to pet them both again. They were clearly happy that someone was paying attention to them instead of riding them off to battle or on some crazy escapade.

"Hands full?" A manly voice came from behind her, almost making her loose her balance, but she rested her hand onto Arvin's head to keep herself seated. She stopped petting the two horses and twisted her head to see who her distracter was.

Seeing that her presence was graced by none other then Tristan's, Vrena felt like she was about to fall over again. She did not know whether he was angry or pleased that she was paying attention to his horse, thanks to his unemotional features being as incomprehensible as ever.

As he walked closer to her, eyeing his horse from over top the small wooden doors to the pen, he rested his elbows onto it and observed his items that were still on the ground.

"Who removed it all?" He asked, and her heart began to flutter inside of her.

"I did. Horses get irritable when you forget to take it off." She lectured him, trying not to sound nervous as she removed herself from the wall, her feet landing on the hay beneath. She began to stroke Arvin again to keep her face away from his, _keep her mind off him, and maybe she would make it through this conversation_.

But Tristan showed no signs of anger or disapproval as he swung open the gate to his horses' stall and quietly moved in, picked up the sword, and moved out. Grabbing a wet rag from a bucket, he sat down on the ground and began to wipe the blood off the metal. It was then that she realized she had never used a sword. He adjusted his head to return her stare she was giving him, and felt a hot blush rise to her cheeks.

"S-sorry. It's just, I-..." She stammered, trying to pretend his eyes were **not** focused on her.

"You've never used a sword before." He finished her sentence for her, and she'd be damned if she had just seen a ghost of a grin on his face before turning his head back to his sword, which was now shining and clean, no trace of dried blood left. She could have sworn she also heard a bit of a slur in his words, and she wondered if he had left that tavern with a drink after all.

"_Precisely_." She replied and exited Arvin's stall, remembering to lock the gate from the outside so he would not get out. It was then that she also noticed she was still wearing the scout's cloak, and it was the only thing keeping her warm in the chill air.

* * *

- 

To be truthful, her taking care of his horse was the last thing Tristan had expected to see as he headed to the stables, remembering that his sword and gear were unattended to. As he was cleaning the blood off blade of his weapon, he felt her eyes on him, and dare he say he enjoyed it.

But then that could also be from the fact he had downed _three_ mugs of alcohol before leaving the tavern. The most he had ever drunken in his lifetime. And he knew he would regret it soon, too, once the effects of it kicked in. He was already beginning to feel light-headed, not like him at all. He should have controlled himself and not let his emotions towards this woman bother him in such a dominant way.

Instantly after making the mistake of drinking, he knew what he _should_ have done: _waited until she left the bar, also taken leave, and gone into the forests to kill something_. Unreasonable and hasty it may seem, but him being a knight…with that part in the play, you didn't need morals.

When he had turned around to indulge himself in her striking brown eyes, he didn't expect her to become nervous. But as her gaze floated towards the sword he was cleaning…he remembered that she had never once used one.

Apparently her only skills were the bow, singing, kicking, yelling, nearly getting killed, horse riding, being beautiful, making him feel pleased when she gazed at him…_and_ being a mix of two civilizations whom hate each other and enjoy ripping the others limbs apart one by one- take that metaphorically _or_ critically, either would make complete sense.

He tried to keep his mind to his weapon, but the sword was now as clean as it had been before he had fought those four Saxons near Marius' town. For a moment, he wondered if she hated him for killing off her sister. _If he had not, he knew she would not be standing behind him this moment_. But…humans had simple minds when it came to death. While he may not have cared, it may have shattered her entirely.

* * *

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Vrena watched as Tristan remained his cool and collected self, seeming deep in thought. She barely knew _anything_ about him. He was a knight of the round table, yes. But other then that, he was Tristan- _mysterious scout with a slight blood lust_.

Now, she was not only nervous as he stood up with his newly-cleansed sword, but also frightened. A few times around him she had felt this fear- those times when he seemed so inexplicable and powerful. His tall, muscular figure, uniqueness…those times when he looked like he could kill anything in his path.

_He had without question killed her sister, when he knew that she would die had he not_. She knew she should not let herself be angered by that action…she would be dead if he had not taken the responsibility into his hands.

As if he had read her mind, his voice was quiet, but at the same time seemed to penetrate the air, cutting off her breath.

"If you do not wish me near you, I will leave."

Vrena's voice caught in her throat at what would have been a '_no_'. Did he really feel such a way? _It was not his fault that Vejha was mad, that their parents were obviously not considering one another's culture when they were in bed!_ And she knew just the way to lodge this into his brain, while he was sitting and she was standing.

She took away the distance that separated them and let her boot make contact with his thigh, which was _strong, hard_, and _muscular_ like the rest of him, god damn it. She wished he would disappear, leave her with her sanity. But another side of her knew and willed otherwise

"_No_, stay. I have no right to bid you leave." She said, and with every daring sentiment left in her being, she sat down beside him-_ instantly_ afterward feeling weak and timid in his presence._ Indeed, she had just wasted all her bravery to sit down!_

Her eyes caught the flashing light of the sword as he moved the hilt in his hand, though, and she was content to have a look at it herself. It was a beautiful sword…but then, everything he owned seemed to be beautiful.

She felt heat rise in her face and her gut become numb as he held out the handle of the large metal sword to her, and with curious hands, she grabbed it gently. She felt her stomach stir as her hand brushed against his, only for a few seconds, but enough to make her shiver. If he knew how edgy he made her, what would he do? _Discard her and walk away?_ She dared not think of any other outcomes.

As his hold on the blade end of the sword lessened, she felt it get heavier. She let out a tiny gasp as she clenched the handle tight in her hands, only to have the blade fall onto the ground with a pang, and she could have sworn her hand vibrated with the landing.

When she tried to lift the entire thing up, it took almost all the muscle she had in her right arm…an arm which she only used for stringing and releasing arrows. So you can sort of imagine her trying to lift this heavy weapon that weighed as much as a large boulder to her.

"This could probably be two of _me_ you're lifting, for god's sake! How on earth do you _manage_ all those fancy tricks?" She said excitedly, standing up off the ground and **still** having trouble lifting the bloody thing.

"Twelve moons." He replied in a truthful tone, and she knew that he was not lying. _In only a year he could lift, swing and par with this dead weight?_

She watched curiously as he strode into one of the other stables, were Galahad's horse neighed at his presence, and he emerged with another sword; as big as his, but she could not tell if it weighed as much. He made it all seem so effortless.

He took back his sword from her hands and gave her Galahad's, which was about a hundred times lighter then his. This she could actually **lift.**

She became silent as Tristan raised his sword in mid-air, the tip pointing in her direction.

"Try it." He said, remaining completely still with the sword strait out, his eyes seemed to be piercing hers as she gripped Galahad's sword tight in her hand, and tried to remember _anything_ and _everything_ she had ever heard about swords in her life. Which she noticed was not much.

She had little time to react as he moved forward, and she quickly flung up the sword to defend herself. _He was serious!_ But she had no clue how to _use_ this thing! Both their swords clanked loud in the air, and the weight of his colliding with hers nearly sent her back a foot, and she knew that she would have to at least _pretend_ to know what she was doing.

"That was good." He said, again wielding his sword, allowing her time to regain her composition.

"But I didn't _do_ anything."

"You _blocked_." He corrected her, and for an instant she felt stupid; but his sword was coming down again, and again she blocked it with hers, trying to level out the weight. Another loud clang of metal to metal, and this time instead of loosing her poise, she flung the sword at him again, letting it slide under his. She could have sworn she saw a spark from the metallic scrape, but he was quick and blocked her second attack, and she yelped as her own sword decided come flying back at her.

Before it could whack her in the head though, something stopped it- and she opened her eyes to see that Tristan had put the body if his sword in front of hers, stopping it as it was only a few inches from her face

Speaking of faces and bodies, theirs were now close. _Very_ close. _Too_ close.

Vrena felt her heart quicken as she realized that the only thing separating their faces were the two swords in front of them.

It seemed that they remained that way for an eternity, lost in each other's eyes; exploring the other with a closeness that made her feel like melting into the ground beneath them, as if the moonlight itself had possessed them to do such a thing. Without thinking, she raised up her hand and moved away a few of the long strands of hair from his face, _so close_, she was sure he could feel her breath lingering in between them, and she his.

She was struck with a pain of longing…she wished that they could be closer, her heart ached and reached for him, but he was still so far away, though only inches separated them now. Their swords had moved out of the way, and they were even closer; each of them lingering the moment that she wished would never end. _But all things had to end_, she regretted sadly.

This thought being the one passing through her mind, she nearly jumped when his face moved forward, breaking and shattering all possible boundaries and barriers she had ever created in her mind to keep things such as this away.

All at once, she was hit with so many feelings that the only one she bothered to count was _longing_. She could taste his lips on hers, as wonderful as she had always imagined them. Involuntarily she began to reply to his request, giving in to him with every fiber of her being. She guessed he caught on to the fact that that she was absolutely inexperienced, and deepened the contact _for_ her. She let him guide her through the moment, so much pain in her heart that she could stop right now and sob for eternity with tears of happiness. She felt like she would explode…but then came to her senses, realizing that she was running out of breath.

They both let the kiss fade away slowly, Tristan's lips lingering on hers until they both opened their eyes again and looked at each other…differently then they had before. This look he gave her was new…_accomplishment, realization_…possibly even regret for waiting so long to let her know how he felt.

It was a long time before either of them said a word, never taking their eyes from the other. She became faintly aware that she was crying, and this time it was him to raise his hand and remove something from view. As he let his thumb wipe away the salty water coming from her eyes, her hand rested on his; finally their eyes broke away, and she felt alone…the area around them darker then before, and she knew it was cold. But she was warm, warmer then she had ever been in all her years.

Just as quickly as they had come together, they jumped back as a voice was heard from outside the door to the stables.

"Vrena! _Vrena_, are you in there?" The voice belonged to Guinevere. She felt slightly annoyed that of all times, this was the time her and Tristan had to be disturbed out of the blue. She let out an annoyed sigh and turned her head to yell back.

"Yes, I'm here!" She shouted in a manner that was an obvious failed attempt to cover up extreme tones of frustration. She felt her stomach do flips again as Tristan laid a hand on her shoulder, and they remained close for one last time before both of them had to move from their contented position, and she knew that both of them were grieving over the departure.

She could feel the heat of his closeness leave her as they headed towards the door and flung it open, an anxious Guinevere awaiting them on the other side.

"Oh, good; both of you. Come quickly." She guided them out of the place, and they quietly followed her without question. They path they took led up to the battlement facing the Briton side, and Vrena did not feel any bit of surprise at what awaited them. _Angered that it must happen so soon_, _yes_; but all surprise had been leeched from her mind already, there was no more to put to use.

Looking down from the safety of the towering stone fortress, nearly a hundred burning fires came from a huge make-shift camp below. The Saxons had come as Guinevere had said, and Vrena had already promised to fight along side the Woad archers. But…_Tristan? What will he think?_

"Do we have your allegiance, lady Vrena?" Guinevere asked her seriously, and she could feel Tristan's eyes on her, studying her every movement. But no matter how much she wished she could stay with him until the end of time and never engage in things like these, she knew this was a role she must play.

"You do, Guinevere." She answered quietly, now very much aware of the scout's presence behind her. When she turned to him, she could not tell what he was thinking. He had resumed his pokerfaced expression, refusing to let any emotion leak from him. But she knew him better. He was concerned.

"I will come for you at dawn. Be ready." Guinevere advised her, and marched over towards Arthur and Lancelot, who were arguing with each other. Lancelot telling him that this was not his or Rome's fight, and Arthur telling him that this was something he must do.

"Well," Tristan spoke, breaking his silence. She turned to him and looked him in the eyes, longing again for the closeness they had experienced before. She felt like she was about to cry; realizing that by tomorrow, they would most likely not see each other until the following day...or if she was unlucky, _never again_. He cupped a hand to her cheek, and held her gaze.

"At least we have until dawn."

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W00t w00t:P

I went nuts with this chapter, sorry guys.

I had one of my college friends read this before submitting it, and when he reached the kissing scene, said something among the lines of "_I nearly had an orgasm_." xD…

Hope this paid off! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, I love all you guys!

So was the fluffness good? Do you guys still want me dead? Should I keep going?

III Cari III


	19. From the Sidelines

**_Sheiado_**- Don't worry, they'll get out of it just fine :P Yea, you should have seen me while I was writing chapter 18! I was drooling all over my keyboard.

**_Calliann_**- xD…you don't need words to explain how cool I am. (Just kidding, I'm not cool.) :P

**_Perberaidien_**- Aww, you people worry too much. Tristan gets roughed around a bit, but…yea, I won't give away the whole chapter xD…

**_Gondorian Archer_**- Don't worry! I've got things planned.

**_Amirra_**- I wished I had the mental energy to type EXACTLY what they did 'before dawn', but you know, I would probably short-circuited by keyboard from all the drool that would have flowed from my mouth :P

**_Lenao_**- I'm glad so many people liked the kiss scene! Makes me feel like a good authoress!

**_SpectralLady_**-_cowers in corner_- o.o he will live! I pinky swear!

_**Dw**_- I tried to make it as descriptive as possible, I'm glad to hear that you got hit with the same waves everyone else did xD (weird metaphorical statement, don't ask.)

**_Op_**- As long as I keep getting DUDE's, I'll keep pouring in the fluff :D

**_Babak_**- Ah, don't worry. I use to not know what Mary-sue was either. Anyway Mary-sue girl character who is loved by everyone in the story and always gets the guy without the author really doing anything to build a relationship between them.

**_Lininlix_**:D –_writes more_-

**_Siopao_**-_laughs because your message got cut off_- xD…just kidding.

_**Sarah**_- You're welcome :D

_**Liduina**_- Believe me, you were not the only one drooling!

_**Neverletmedown**_- Lots more Tristan action :P

**_Alexandra_**- Here it is:D

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**Chapter 19- From the Sidelines**

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When Vrena awoke, she could tell by the darkness that the sun had not yet risen. She knew that now would be a preferable time to get up and prepare herself for the battle, but her mind was at so much ease; she did not want to move. Ad she was so _warm_…she felt safe, as if she was wrapped in someone's arms.

At first she couldn't remember anything, so she allowed her brain to take a quick re-count of the events from the day gone by.

Everything slowly came back to her: _the kiss, the agreement_, and something else…she could not remember it. She knew that it was important; something that had made her content…but her brain would not process any thoughts that might spark a memory.

That was, until she opened her eyes.

She was overcome with a small bit of shock as she figured out that she was indeed wrapped in someone's arms. She nearly jumped, but seeing that it was Tristan in the bed with her, her mind went back to its calm state…though her stomach erupted with nervousness. Even after all the events of last night, she still felt tense in his presence. All the events of…last_ night_…

Her mind set itself into over-drive as the important event she had been trying to remember slammed into her like a brick wall. She had been curious as to why the lower-half of her body was aching, _but she did not expect this!_ Had they really gone that far? No, no, it was a dream…she had only dreamt it.

'_Fool, it wasn't a dream, it was pure reality, and you enjoyed every minute of it!_' Part of her mind told her, and she let out a sigh, closing her eyes again. She let her head rest on Tristan's bare chest and noticed now that they were both unclothed. Looking up to Tristan again, she laughed at how innocent he looked while asleep. One of his braids were covering his face, along with a few loose strands of the dark-brown hair.

It was_ perfect_.

She pulled her hand out from under the covers of the bed and grasped the braid in her fingers. She tried not to make any loud noises that would wake him, and commenced tugging hard on it. A pained expression came into view on his face as he groggily reached out and grabbed her wrist, and reluctantly she let go of the braid. It took him a few seconds to get his mind moving, and she laughed again at his current state of virtue. After letting go of the braid, she tugged at his beard.

He obviously was awake now, because now he had both her wrists locked in a tight grip to cease her from tugging anything _else_.

"That's _not_ a nice way to wake someone." He said, releasing her hands. She felt her stomach flutter again as he placed her head under his chin, his fingers entangling themselves into her midnight hair, which had become wavier after the long night. She knew that no matter how much she wished to never move from him, dawn was approaching, and Guinevere would force her out anyways.

"I'm staying." She heard his voice breathe into her neck, the touch sending a shiver up her spine. At first she did not know what he meant by those words…but then she knew he was speaking of the battle with the Saxons, which was nearing closer to them with every second they lay together.

"So you will be with Arthur while I am with the Woads?" She asked, just making sure.

"Yes." He said, his hot breath lingering on her neck again. She pulled him closer, both of them enjoying the others warmth. But she knew it had to be early morning now, they must at least try to get up.

Vrena sat up, snatching one of the thin bed sheets to cover her bare body as she moved off the bed slowly- the pain in between her legs grew stronger, and she knew that it had definitely had **not** been a dream or figment of her imagination. They both had willingly engaged in something that most couples would wait months or years for. But she knew that their relationship was unlike any common one. _Both of them had wanted it_. There was a closeness that they could not obtain simply by embracing one another.

"How old were you, when you were taken away from your home?" She asked as she slipped into the clothes Guinevere had given her the night before- there was no way she was going to fight while in a dress, even if she would not engage in close combat. She nestled into the azure-colored tunic and breeches, dyed specially to help keep the wearer hidden in wooded areas.

"Thirteen." He replied, changing into his clothes and armor on the other side of the bed. She tucked the ends of the breeches into her boots and used a long piece of green string to tie back all her wavy locks. Slipping the archer gloves onto her hands, she mentally calculated how old he was. '_If he left when he was thirteen, and he has finished his service to Rome, that makes him twenty eight._' She examined this new information.

"That makes you thirty-six moons older then me." She replied factually. He was three years ahead of her, she being a mere twenty five. But she was cut off from her thoughts as a sharp rapping on the door echoed in the small room, and Guinevere's voice came from behind it.

"_Vrena?_"

"I'm coming!" She replied in a hurried voice. She would have to run down to the stables in the cold morning air and retrieve Arvin, and then Guinevere would lead her to the Woads attack position. She felt refreshed and clean, and turned back over to the quiet scout- the man she _loved_. She would indeed remember to keep an eye on him as he fought, she would not risk him getting injured, _or worse, killed_. Both of them moved towards the door, but Vrena reached it first and flung it open slowly.

Guinevere seemed taken back at **both** of them exiting, and Vrena felt heat rise in her cheeks. What would _anyone_ think if a lady walked out of a dwelling with a man at her side? Then she felt nervous again…were they to be open about their feelings, who knew what trouble the knights would start. Particularly _Lancelot_. This thought made her want to laugh and die simultaneously.

But then, as her luck always turned out, the knights would find out sooner then expected- for Guinevere was accompanied by Arthur, Gawain, Bors, Galahad, and _yes_, Lancelot, whom she noticed was looking grumpy and exhausted. And as she had expected, all five of the knights seemed to be surprised as Tristan emerged out of her room. Vrena knew that he was not embarrassed at the least, or she would have known. His detached features still on his face as they always were, and always would be.

"_See_! Even _Tristan_ gets out of bed with a woman, and _I_ don't!" Lancelot grumbled angrily, slapping his hand to his forehead and leaning against the wall of the inn they had resided at over-night.

Before she could come up with some witty remark to cheer him up, Guinevere grabbed her wrist and began to lead her away from the knights. She took one quick glance at Tristan, and he to her. She began to feel pathetic…_she was only a few yards away now, and she again longed for him, longed to hold him._

"It seems you and I were dealing with the same kinds of ordeals last night." Guinevere exclaimed once they were far enough away.

"Oh really?" Vrena replied in an amused tone as the world was beginning to lighten up- the sun was rising over the earth, casting a beautiful glow over the land.

They did not continue their conversation, however, as they approached the stables. She came out with Arvin, and Guinevere borrowed one of the town's horses. They rode until they came to an open area, right near the southern gate that led into Briton. She shivered- right outside these doors, Saxons were awaiting all of them. Probably preparing themselves this very moment.

Guinevere dismounted, and Vrena followed suit. The two of them walked up the narrow stairs to the top of the battlement, peering over to the other side, ducking behind the stone.

Some Saxons were already out of their tents, and among them Vrena watched as a large man, tall and imposing, swung his sword. Long golden Saxon hair, well built…and the others were watching him. One of the onlookers her and Guinevere both recognized- _the man from the ice_. The one practicing with the sword must be their higher commander, with all the attention he was getting.

"That's quite a big army they have." Guinevere announced as they crept down the stone stairway, back onto the ground.

As they rode forward a little, Vrena noticed that a dark liquid was covering the ground, dampening the grass. It looked like a thick substance…it was most likely flammable, as well. These Woads without a doubt had many things planned to drive away the Saxons.

She wondered what Tristan was doing.

"So, anything you'd like to tell us about?" Gawain asked him for the tenth time that morning. They had spent most of the time evacuating the town, which was now a completed task. The newly formed caravan was heading away from the wall, and Tristan was awaiting his signal from Arthur, so that he could join him. Once his commander appeared on the hill, he would ride up along side him.

"Nothing worth enlightening you with." Tristan replied to Gawain, still glancing to the hill. The sun had now risen, but was concealed behind the misty clouds. Indeed the fog was thick today, thicker then usual, which could be good or bad.

If anything, he wished that Vrena had not made an oath to the Woads to fight along side them, and instead gone with the caravan. He knew she would do well to keep hidden in the trees, but that may not be enough.

"You can tell us!" Lancelot grinned cunningly. He wondered why they even bothered asking him, did they expect him to blurt out every detail he could muster from his mind?

"No need telling," he said, still glancing towards the hill, "You've _thought_ most of it already." Which he knew was only half true. His fellow knights probably imagined they fooled around like Lancelot would with a gal, which was indeed not what he and Vrena had done by any means. He didn't need to turn around to see the baffled looks on the knight's faces.

And then he saw his signal: Arthur, fully clad in armor, was raising a Roman standard into the air; Tristan halted his horse and looked to his sword, latched to the belt at his waist. He moved off to the side of the caravan as it continued to progress forward.

He turned to see that the other knights had stopped to watch their leader in awe. They may have thought he was crazy, yes…but Tristan knew otherwise. These men did not know that just beyond that hill to the side, Woads were waiting for the Saxons to force open the gate and commence the surprise attack.

Bors yelled Arthur's name, and then shouted their common battle cry, his voice booming through the air. Arthur returned it, and then Tristan gave the other knights one last look as he trotted his horse up to the hill. He knew that they wished to fight, but they were free men: neither Arthur nor Rome could command them to stay, and now they were faced with an enormous decision.

Vrena at first had felt awkward among the Woads, but allowed Guinevere to smear the blue ghost pain all over her face in tattoo-like designs, making her feel more welcome.

She had been given three large tubs of arrows; some she noticed had combustible items attached to the spears…_so that was what the oils spilt on the land had been for_. Once these arrows were lit and fired, it would set nearly half the field ablaze, along with some Saxons.

She was standing next to Guinevere, and they both watched as Arthur mounted himself at the top of the large hill on their side of the wall. _The signal to prepare_. They had a long row of Woad archers, including herself, totaling to what may be a hundred. There were many more Blue ghosts behind them who were awaiting the fight, swords and daggers in hands, eager and shaking to kill.

Arthur could easily be spotted from the other side of the wall, so the Saxons would be heading over any time now.

Vrena felt her breath leave her and her heart take flight as Tristan came into view on top the rise, followed shortly afterward by the last four of the knights. _So they had decided to stay and fight after all_. Vrena smiled, knowing that with all six remaining Knights of the Round Table, this battle could be considered a success already.

They all felt the ground shake as the Saxons –_or only a regiment of Saxons, as she could see now_- had run through the gate, chanting and pounding on the earth, shields high.

Of course, with no horses to keep it open, the large door of the wall creaked closed again, and the Saxon men looked around, confused.

Everyone raised their bows as Guinevere, who was commanding them, hoisted hers into the air- not firing, but aiming. The hundred or so archers followed suit, latching the arrows to their bows, ready to fire on command.

Finally, Guinevere let out a cry in the native tongue that Vrena had only a bit of trouble translating to "_release_", and everyone fired their arrows at once, launching them into the air simultaneously. Looking up, it seemed as if a flock of birds were flying over head, but then the arrows tilted downward. They could hear screams and shouts as the mysterious arrows pierced Saxon flesh, and she could also hear a bit of metal penetrating armor, hinting that the knights were doing their job to rid off the rest.

Within no more then a minute, everything was silent. The first fight a success, but now they had the **rest** of the army to deal with.

This time Guinevere pulled out one of the arrows that would have flames set to the points, and a Woad ran by all of them, individually lighting the tips.

They heard loud chants, yells, and hollers come from the rest of the Saxon army, now emerging into the open. Guinevere fired, and then the sky seemed to glow with the flames. She could hear now cries of pain and anger from hundreds of Saxon soldiers, and the whipping of the newly-wrought fires burning the land around them.

Guinevere dropped her bow and pulled a dagger from her short animal-skin bottom wear, and shouted a cry. The Woad warriors behind her did the same and yelled loudly, rushing forward onto the battlefield. A few archers, including herself, moved forward to were the woods stopped and halted behind the trees, covered from view.

Vrena decided to stick with firing one arrow at once, for she did not know where all of them would go with these men running around. She trembled for a second and watched as the Woads and the knights –_whom she could only spot a few of, Tristan had not come into view yet_- attacked the Saxon army with everything they could. She could actually see blood flying from bodies, and she started to pick off Saxons one by one quickly.

She felt a rush of relief as she spotted Tristan, swinging his sword with grace, clashing with sometimes five Saxons at once. She watched in awe as he maneuvered the steel blade so easily, and remembered how heavy it had been in her hands…unlike her, he was physically powerful.

And then she saw it…the man she and Guinevere had watched from the battlement whom they suspected had been their chief, about to square off with Tristan. She began to feel worried…_Saxons chiefs were not ones to mess around with_; they were the pick of the litter, the best fighters and planners, this she knew. Never the less, the Saxon's and Tristan's swords clashed quickly, and she knew that both of them were putting out as much effort to try and block the other from landing a blow.

Remembering that Arthur had mentioned earlier that he himself would bring that man down, she began to fret for the scout even more. And then, it was as if her worst fears had finally come to haunt her.

The Saxon chief had pulled out a dagger and pierced Tristan's upper leg with it- penetrating deep, to the point were the knight grimaced in pain. She felt herself scream inside, and released the arrow, aiming for the man, but her precision was off and missed him by an inch. However, it did distract him, giving Tristan time to haul himself from the ground and grab his sword.

Nevertheless, both the men were glaring at her. The Saxon was clearly mad that she had interrupted him when he could have killed the knight then and there, and Tristan was giving her a stare that said '_hide yourself behind that tree before I come over there and force you to_.' She saw that he was wobbling on the leg that had been stabbed, and could see the blood pouring from it. She prayed hard to whomever may be listening that he would be alright until the battle was over.

Her hopes raised as Arthur ran towards the Saxon chief. Both of the men glared at each other, examining and observing quickly before commencing their assault- leaving Tristan out of it, which she was thankful for. Had she not stalled the Saxon chief…she didn't want to think about that.

Tristan had moved over to fight others and Vrena kept a close eye on him. She could tell by the angered look on his face that he was in ungodly amounts of pain, and was trying hard to ignore it. Should he collapse, she would not waste time getting to him.

She became distracted, however, as a familiar womanly cry erupted into her ears. She turned her gaze over to the left where Guinevere was fighting the man from the ice, and had just been knocked to the ground. Lancelot was close behind them and took the fight into his hands, knocking down the Saxon.

Vrena kept tabs as he turned to fight another oncoming Saxon, and gasped as the other Saxon he had just knocked over pulled out a crossbow from underneath a dead body.

Clutching her bow tightly, she hitched an arrow to the string again and fired, this time _hitting_ her target- the man who had been so close to killing Lancelot fell over at the shattering pain in his leg, were the arrow had hit.

Her eyes locked with Lancelot's and Guinevere's, the Woad warrior grinning with a relieved smile, and Lancelot one of praise. She had just saved his life because_ he_ had not been paying attention. She could have laughed.

Before she knew it, the battle had ended. What was left of the successful Woads made their way back towards the woods, looking bloody and exhausted.

Then she remembered, Tristan! She quickly ran back further into the woods were she had kept Arvin safe, mounting him as quick as possible. Ushering him forward, he made his way through the trees and out onto the dead battlefield, were she could finally spot Tristan- he was sitting on the ground, clutching his leg, hands covered in blood. Arvin did some fantastic jumps overtop piles of dead Saxons, making his way towards the scout.

She halted him to a stop and quickly jumped off, nearly falling over; balancing herself, she rushed to Tristan's side. The other knights were also coming over, seeing him sitting on the ground.

"Move your hands." She commanded in an anxious voice, and he quickly removed them so she could look.

Blood was still pouring and dripping from his leg…_that blade had not just pierced flesh, it had penetrated all the way through!_ She felt hot anger boil inside her, enough that she felt she could have killed that Saxon chief herself with her bare hands.

"Help me pick him up!" She pleaded to Gawain, who was the first to reach them. _If they did not stop this bleeding soon, the knight would loose all the blood from his body and die!_ At the time, they had nothing at all to heal him with.

Her and Gawain both lifted Tristan onto Arvin, which proved difficult because of the stallion's abnormal height. But they managed, and she watched as some of the blood from Tristan's leg continued to seep out, some even staining Arvin's white coat.

"We need to catch up to the caravan." Galahad pointed out. The other five knights, Guinevere, and herself glanced at each other with worried looks.

"No," Vrena replied after taking it to thought, "we will go back to the town."

"But no one is at the town!" Galahad argued back, but Vrena thought differently.

"No one may be in the town, but do you think that they packed up every little item they could find? There's bound to be supplies left over that we can use." She pointed out to them.

"Galahad, you will ride and catch up to the caravan. Tell them that it is safe to come back, but not to cross the wall ever again until these bodies have been washed away." Arthur gave out orders. "Vrena, you ride Tristan to the town and do what you can. We will meet up with you there."

Vrena glanced up to Tristan once more, trying to figure out how they would both fit onto the horse with him wounded.

Luckily for her, none other then the Merlin came from behind them, holding the reigns of Tristan's horse. The knights turned, obviously shocked to see him- but remembered that it was his men who mad made it possible to win the battle, and did not treat him as a threat.

She nodded to the Merlin and took the horse, and he nodded back. Before mounting it, she gave Arvin a nice kick in the leg, sending him darting through the battleground towards the town. Mounting Tristan's horse, she kicked him into a gallop and caught up quickly.

_Oh how she wished that war never existed._

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W00t. You see, now that _this_ is over, I can get back to extreme fluffness…and also a little preview: Vrena discovers some surprising information in the next chapter that will greatly impact her and Tristan's relationship. :P

Also, Lancelot still owes her for saving his ass. Next chapter will have some nice comic relief. :D

Am I doing a good job, guys? And do not worry, this story is not close to being over, not just yet! I've got some things planned for the knights and Vrena :P

**ALSO**: I drew a picture of Vrena, which you canfind as a link in my profile.

ea, I know, and my style is wierd (once you go anime, you never go back xD)...

I did it quick, so that's why it looks bad...

**III Cari III**


	20. Drinking Games

**_Katemary77_**- Glad you guys think I did well with the fluff! Thank you :D

**_Neverletmedown_**- You might be a bigger fan then I am O.o

**_Calliann_**- It's ok, he won't die:P

**_elvenstar5_**- ten bucks says…I can't say, it would give away the entire ending :X

**_Sheiado_**- I plan on many more chapters, the story is not even close to being over yet :3…and I'm glad you liked the picture!

**_Sarah_**- XD that's a direct way to put it.

**_Dw_**- Her reminding him that she saved his arse might be in the next chapter :P

**_AngelsBlade_**- It's what happens when you have off school for two days thanks to snow.

**_Lenao_**- If I was a supernatural being…this story would be at 50 chapters, and I would also have a Lancelot/OC, Galahad/OC, and Jack Sparrow/OC fanfic running at the same time xD…

**_Siopao_**- Psh, yea. 3 and yea, I know the hands are in a…odd place XD…I hate drawing them, and that's the only way I could think to hide them while she was in that position. XP…

**_OP_**- Dude:D 3

**_Perberaidien_**- XD update on the way. Glad you liked it!

**_SpectralLady_**- Thanks a bunch, glad you enjoyed it :D

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**Chapter 20- Drinking Games**

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It didn't take them long to make it back to the abandoned town. It was a good thing Arthur had found another horse, or Lancelot would not be with them right now. _Yes_, maybe having Lancelot with them was not on her list of good, but she had only been to the wall twice and neither times had she bothered to learn her way around. Lancelot had agreed to help them locate the place Dagonett had usually gotten his supplies, which was fortunate enough that he remembered.

"The housing were they store herbs and medicines is further towards the outskirts, but take him into one of the rooms of the inn and try to stop the bleeding as much as you can, it will not take me long." Lancelot told her, and then rode off.

She had managed to get Tristan off the horse, which made her happy that he was basically _prone_ to fainting, unlike her. He was still wide awake, and allowed her to drape his arm over her shoulder to support the weight he could not with his deep injury.

"If you die on me, I will **kill** you!" She mumbled aloud as she helped him up the winding staircase to the inn rooms. '_When the Bishop gets back, I will force him to make inns that have rooms on the **ground**_' she mentally swore as they had some trouble climbing the stone staircase.

"If I _die_, I will be _dead_, so save your threats." He muttered back incoherently, the tone of his voice indicating that he was indeed feeling pain from his wound. Well, she could imagine that a long dagger right through the upper leg **did** hurt! If anything, she should have slapped him for not showing it.

It was strange, at the time she did not feel nervous at all…she felt more adrenalin and awareness of what needed to be done.

The wound was deep, and had probably even hit bone. This meant that it would have to be stitched up, something she did not enjoy doing. Now she began to feel nervous, because she knew that to get to the wound, Tristan would have to shed all the clothing that covered it. Not that she hadn't seen anything beyond that already, but her stomach still did flips thinking about it.

She was thankful that the wise scout had nearly read her mind as he stood on his good leg and pulled out a dagger from..._somewhere_, and cut a large hole in the breeches were the wound was. It was big enough now for her to not ask him to remove his attire, and she did not know whether to sigh with relief or regret.

After getting him onto the bed, keeping him in a sitting position with a pillow for him to lean on, she took one of the sheets and ripped them, using the smaller piece of it to wrap up the wound until Lancelot returned.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, her sitting on the side of the bed close to him. Apparently _he_ knew what he wanted while _she_ was lost in thought- he tugged her down close to him, so that their faces were close. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks again, and felt a surge of happiness. But then the question came to her…

"Tristan," She said quietly, grabbing his attention. They looked each other in the eyes, and she mustered all the courage she had in her. "I love you…" She spoke, breathing into his ear. "Is that how you feel?"

At first he did not answer, and seemed caught up in thought, seriousness enveloping him. The long strands of hair in his face were partially hiding his eyes from her view, so she could not read them.

"It depends on how you define love." He answered, holding her hand in his, hers soft from years of womanly work and his hard from years of fighting. She lost all train of thought as he brought his lips to her, surrendering to him again for the second time that day; she felt her heart nearly jump from her chest as they lunged themselves into the moment.

They were interrupted, however, as Lancelot had finally located the room.

"Bloody _hell_! I leave you for mere minutes and you're already at each other! I wish I could find that kind of commitment in one of the barmaids." He grumbled as Vrena shot up, seeing him walk in and sit down many of the essential items she would need- fresh cloth, alcohol (she was surprised he hadn't drank it while getting there), containers of ointments and healing herbs…and she was thankful that he had the brains to bring a small needle and some thread. Tristan eyed the needle with a disturbed look, but took the gaze away as she undid the bed-sheet cloth from his wound. The bleeding had only died down a bit, not enough.

She did the first thing she knew had to be done, and that was to clean out the wound. Vrena knew it would be terribly painful, but this was _Tristan_. He would live.

She undid the top to the alcohol and poured it out onto the wound- she regretted pouring too much at once, because the scout let out a cry of pain, one she had expected never to hear- but it disappeared as quickly as it came and he took a deep breath, trying to block out the burning sensation.

She took a clean cloth and dabbed away the wet liquid, and then began to tie the string to the needle. She saw Lancelot shiver and Tristan close his eyes, wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into.

"This might hurt." She warned. She wished she would not have to do this…but they had to close the wound somehow, or the bleeding would never stop.

"_Oh_, really?" Lancelot added sarcastically as Tristan just braced himself for the pain to come.

Throughout the rest of the ordeal, though, he remained quiet and collected, as he usually was. Grimacing a bit here or there…but he proved to be very skilled at dealing with pain as much as he was with dishing it out.

As she was almost done sewing up the wound, Arthur and the other knights had made it to the town and filed into the room. Vrena still needed time to work, though, and urged them to leave. She told them that they could see him when she was done, thus leaving them alone again. From outside she could hear chattering and moving- the caravan had returned.

She applied some of the herbal remedies that helped close wounds overtop of it, then took some of the long strands of cloth to wrap it all up. She was proud that she remembered how to do all these things from being in Tirth for so long- it was _there_ she had watched all the women tend to knights and soldiers that came by now and then for help, and _there_ were she had decided to learn herb lore and how to treat wounds.

After staying there with him for a while, Vrena heard her stomach growl in pain…she had not eaten since the day before. Tristan told her to go get something to eat, and when she refused, nearly booted her out of the room. She was sad to leave him by himself, but Arthur had been waiting outside the door.

"How is he?" The Roman commander asked her, trying to glance past the door.

"He will be fine, you may see him now." And without a word more, she walked quickly away from the area before she could turn back around.

All the townsfolk on the street seemed to be celebrating the removal of the Saxons from the wall, and she watched as all Bors' eleven bastard children jumped around him like wild animals. She could not suppress laughter as she headed over to Guinevere, who had changed out of her Woad-like outfit and was now back into a dress.

Her and Guinevere both obtained food and drink, and before Vrena knew it, the sun was setting. It was amazing how quickly it all seemed to fly by.

At the time, she _wanted_ to feel happy- they had all made it out of the battle alive and in one piece; and from what she had heard from Guinevere, her and Arthur had gotten together. _**That** was why Lancelot was in such a bad mood this morning_. His bad temper must have taken a turn, though- at the moment, he was chasing a humored Galahad who had stolen a special glass container of brandy he had just bought…it _must_ be important. She and Guinevere could not hold in laughter as they watched the two peruse a wild chase around the active town.

_Everyone seemed to be indulged in festivities, having a good time…_

After her and Guinevere had chatted for a while longer on womanly topics, Vrena decided that a bath was desirable, because both of them smelled like blood and death. Not knowing were she could cleanse herself, she let Guinevere lead the way to a small lodging. In the back, apparently, there was a place to bathe.

"Sit your clothes were they will not get wet…I would suggest there on the bench." Guinevere said, pointing towards it. They both removed their clothing, having no shame around other women. When Vrena first removed the emerald-colored tunic she wore at the battle, along with the tight undershirt she had borrowed, she saw that some of her bruises from so long ago were finally beginning to disappear.

When she and Guinevere had relaxed themselves into the large metallic tub filled with warm water, she put a hand to her stomach and realized that she had lost weight over the past month. _Too much of it…it was almost to the point were she could see her rib cages_. She would have to return to a normal diet, starting today.

She kept the hand on her stomach as Guinevere began washing both their hair with herbal mixtures that filled the air around them with a natural aroma of flowers, and she sniffed at the scent…but then her mind wandered back to her abdomen.

"You look worried about something," Guinevere pointed out, causing Vrena to snap up her head quickly. _How much did she need to explain to get this woman to understand the reason she seemed deep in thought?_ In her mind Vrena counted the days since she had last had her cycles, and discovered that it would be around this time they returned…if she did not get them, that said enough right there.

"Ah, more happened between you and Tristan then I thought." Guinevere caught on quickly, damn her. Her friend was now smiling a devilish grin like one Lancelot would show when he was '_suggesting_' things. She didn't know whether to run and hide from further inquiring, or answer truthfully.

Avoiding a discussion on such topics, she dunked her head into the water to wash away the herbs, and wrung it out until it was nearly dry. Guinevere did the same, and they began to dry off with the towels given to them by the owner of the lodging.

While they were not paying attention, a hand lingered in unnoticed and grabbed hold of Vrena's white undershirt, and only at the sudden movement of the color did Vrena fling her head around to hear the laughing voice of Galahad, and the hand retreat behind the curtain.

"_Ay!_" She yelled, but already she could hear the man's feet running successfully away, and knew that by now he was out of the inn entirely, running for dear life.

"_Men_…I'm surprised he didn't take anything _else_." Guinevere laughed, but Vrena did not find this funny!

Counting on her fingers, she only had two shirts left now. Her white baggy undershirt that revealed a bit too much chest and was wool, which made it quite thin- and the bloody green tunic that she would **not** put back on. Without her tight undershirt, it would be very cold outside, and she had yet to receive the clothing Guinevere had requested from the inn owner.

But no, _no_, **_no_**. Galahad would _not_ get away with this, no matter what. She would hunt him down and leave his corpse to the crows. She would join Lancelot in the chase to get their items back.

Throwing on the large wrinkly white undershirt, she buttoned it up quickly, then threw on her underskirt and decided to make her own sarong. The baggy undershirt fell down low past her waist, being originally a man's shirt. The underskirt only went to her knees. That was all she needed.

Running out to the lobby, she demanded the inn keeper supply her with a thin white bed sheet and some thick, long rope. He gave her an odd look, but left and returned with the items she had wished for. Folding the large sheet in half, it wrapped twice around her waist. She tucked it in, then tied the rope tight around her waist to keep it there…she stuck the first layer of the sheet into the rope to secure it even more, which left some of the underskirt showing…but she didn't _care_, she just wanted to kill Galahad!

She thanked the inn keeper, and then ventured out into the town. She her eyes scanned around, but could not see any sign of Galahad _or_ Lancelot.

Then she finally spotted them- as she had guessed, the one who had stolen her undershirt **was** Galahad, and Lancelot was still hunting him. They were running closer to her, and from the look on his face, the man seemed to be having the time of his life. Until he saw her, of course.

Galahad stopped in his tracked and mouthed what she believed was an '_shit!'_, then turned the other way, only to see Lancelot coming from that direction. _He could not run to the left, or he would slam into a wall_- so he darted off to the right, undergarments and liquor in hand.

"**Galahad**! You dirty bastard, give it **back**!" She yelled and began the pursuit.

"Over my rotting corpse!" He laughed from a distance, and Vrena growled in annoyance. She just wanted her undershirt back, for god's sake!

"Then _so be it_!"

It was not hard to keep up with him- she was light and loved running, but he was still fast. Lancelot caught up with her as they both ran after the sly and cunning Galahad.

"What he take from _you_?" Lancelot panted, out of breath. She could only imagine- he had been running half the night trying to get his drink back.

"Who _cares_, lets just get him!" She yelled, and the two of them ran faster. Heads turned as they kept running, some laughing at the playful knight who had stolen from them…_it was indeed funny, but she would not laugh until she had her clothing back!_ She was sure the same went for Lancelot and his fancy drink.

She became annoyed as the crowd of people grew larger, and they lost sight of the culprit.

They were now in the town square, were men were at tables gambling, and torches lit the area. She knew Galahad was somewhere around here, hiding. Looking to the left, she saw the amused looks on Gawain, Bors, and Arthur's faces…she also saw that Tristan had been helped out of his room, and was sitting down in a chair near Gawain, who had been throwing knives at a board.

"Galahad, _you're a dead man walking!_" She yelled through gasps of breath, catching the attention of some onlookers. "When I find you, you will loose all that hair of yours, even in places you did not know it existed, I swear it!" And with that, both she and Lancelot spotted him- running out from behind a table of gambling men, darting and swerving through the masses.

"**There**!" Lancelot yelled, and with that, they ran after the _stealing bastard_…She would have loved to talk with Tristan, but her clothing came first.

They didn't get far when from their side, Galahad dart past them like an arrow, and Vrena quickly turned and watched in disbelief as he ran towards the other knights, a pleased grin on his face, laughing aloud.

"How the hell?" Lancelot yelled, turning back around. This was beginning to get frustrating.

Neither of them moved, and instead watched as Galahad was about to run past Tristan- the scout shot her a look, and then stuck out his good leg just as he ran by. Galahad tripped over it and fell flat on his face, the bottle of liquor surprisingly not shattering. Her undershirt was still tight in his hands though, as he lay defenseless on the ground. _Now was her chance_.

Her and Lancelot both ran forward, but she got there first and showed no mercy.

"I'll teach **you **to take my things!" She yelled and literally pounced on top of Galahad, causing him to groan as his body pressed against the ground; she reached for her undershirt, but he held it out so she could not reach it, laughing hysterically at her attempt to reclaim it.

She flung herself off of him, and quickly kicked him in the groin- which she had no trouble aiming for, because he was still on the ground. She laughed at the moans of pain that came from the crowd of on-looking men, even Tristan could not resist a sour face. Galahad yelped and crawled up into a ball on the ground.

Her undershirt had dropped to the ground, and she quickly picked it up while his guard was down, grinning triumphantly.

"Never, _ever_ try to steal from me again, young Galahad, or my swears may very well be promises!" She warned as Lancelot came over, picking up his bottle of liquor from the ground, quickly popping off the top and taking large swigs of it.

Seeing that he was still grimacing in pain, she gave Galahad her hand and helped him off the ground. Never the less, he was still smiling from his accomplishment.

Not wanting to leave now that she was there, she pulled an old trick out of the book of clothes-changing. _She put the undershirt over her head and removed her arms from the sleeves of the baggy white shirt, then managed to pull the small tight one down underneath it_- an easy trick. She put her arms back into both, and then adjusted them from the outside. She felt better now.

She sat down on the bench next to Tristan and caught her breath. All of them were here now- the six knights, her, and Guinevere who had finally showed up. Gawain had brought over two more benches and Bors brought over a table, and they all sat around it, discussion overcoming them.

And **that**, was when Lancelot did something he never should have done. _(A/N: Yea, the thing I've been rushing to get to! Sorry about that XD…)_

"We should play a game of drinking, whoever can down the most before passing out wins!" Gawain suggested, but Lancelot suggested otherwise.

"No, **no**. I've done that once already today. Lets play a different game…but everyone needs to agree to play it, or there's no point." He said, looking to all of them, mainly her and Tristan. Both Vrena and the scout sent each other a look, and agreed. _Maybe it would not be so bad_. She would try hard not to drink too much, for she had no idea how well she could hold her liquor.

"Agreed then! Vanora, sweet, bring us as many shot glasses and jugs as you can carry on your serving dish!" Lancelot yelled to Bors' wife, who groaned in annoyance. But Vanora came back over with what he wished for- eight large glasses for alcohol, and five large containers of the drink, which she doubted they would use all of.

Then she grimaced. _Or would they?_

"This one is gonna be a better fighter then anyone south o' north of the wall one day…" Bors exclaimed as one of his bastards came to sit in his lap.

"That's because he's _mine_, haven't I told you that already?" Lancelot grinned. Vrena decided not to laugh with the others at this- _she would have a child of her own soon if she did not show signs of getting her cycles during this moon_.

"Alright, gents and ladies! The object of this game is to _purposely_ get as many people drunk as humanly possible. We go in a circle, and everyone says something they know they have _not_ done, but someone else _has_. For instance, if Bors were to say that he had not slept with Vanora in a month, I would take a drink, because I have. Simple as that. We keep going until no one can manage to put glasses to their lips." Lancelot explained, and Vanora whacked him hard on the head with her serving tray.

Everyone grabbed one of the large glasses and waited for more directions from Lancelot, who was rubbing his aching head already.

"Aye, _fine_. I'll go first, how about that?" He said, and opened the first heavy tank of beer. All of them poured the drink into their large mugs and awaited him to begin. Finally, he did, and they all listened intently to his statement.

"I have never had my clothing stolen away from under my nose." He grinned slyly to her, and Vrena glared as she raised her mug to her lips, taking a sip of the drink that burner her throat as soon as she swallowed. She noticed that Gawain also took a sip.

It was now Galahad's turn, and now she was beginning to regret joining in on this game. But she could not quit now, she would miss all the fun!

"I've never been trampled on by a pony" He said with a serious look on his face, and everyone laughed as Lancelot rolled his eyes and took a drink. It was Gawain's turn.

"I've never been threatened to have all my hair chopped off." …Both Galahad and Lancelot took a drink. It was now Bors' turn.

"I've never slept with _someone else's_ lover." He said, glancing to Lancelot, who took a large swig of alcohol. They all laughed as Gawain looked around nervously before also taking a drink.

"May I ask who it was?" Arthur said through laughter and Gawain just allowed an innocent look to cross his face.

"Three years ago on that mission we were sent on near Gaul. You know who." He answered, and all the knights, even Tristan seemed, amused. Speaking of Tristan, it was his turn.

He was silent for a few second, and then finally thought if something.

"I've never consumed more then three glasses of this in one sitting." Vrena had to laugh as _everyone_ excluding him, Guinevere, and herself, took a long guzzle from their mugs. And then she froze- it was her turn.

She did not know much about these people, so it would be hard to come up with something good. She thought hard for a few long seconds, and finally managed to muster something from the back of her mind…she remembered something Lancelot had said a while ago that Guinevere had passed onto her as they had been talking earlier that day.

"_I've_ never slept with two people of the opposite sex at _once_." She said, smirking at the now wide-eyed Lancelot.

"Who told _you?_" He asked, glaring at her as he took a drink.

"Oh, no one." Vrena smiled as her and Guinevere slapped their hands together triumphantly. It was now her turn.

"I've never been beaten up by a woman," Guinevere grinned, and laughed when _every_ man lifted his glass and drank, even Tristan. It was Arthur's turn.

"I've never disguised myself as a barmaid to sneak beer from a tavern."

"_Damn it…_" Lancelot murmured and again dove for his glass. Vrena noticed that they now had a crowd of spectators- people interested in watching the eight of them drink their way through the night. Even some of the gamblers had been distracted by the game…it was Lancelot's turn again.

"I've never locked myself in a closet." He said. Vrena groaned- she had wandered through the church in Tirth once, and accidentally locked herself into a room that held all the offerings made to Agustius…they thought she was a crook, but in the end she got out of it. She, along with Gawain, Arthur, **and** Galahad all took drinks.

"I've never gotten sick from drinking." Galahad said, and Lancelot sent him a death glare.

"I have a feeling I'm not about to be spared..."

* * *

-

About a half hour later (and nearly fifty drinks for Lancelot), the circle was still up and going, but now a bigger crowd surrounded them. Vrena was surprised when not many relationship-related questions arose. But now many things were crossed off the list, it would turn up sooner or later.

Tristan had only sipped from his glass once during that time, and Vrena about a dozen.

"I've never been hit on the ass by a door," Galahad said, and Lancelot grimaced, but took a quick swig.

"I thought that would have been forgotten by now…"

* * *

-

Fifteen minutes (and seventy drinks later for Lancelot), most of the knights were anything but sober, and even Vrena was beginning to feel woozy. The only one who was not under influence now was Tristan, who was still sitting calmly in his seat, his glass only half empty.

"I've never shed my clothes and attempted to fly off the top of the wall." Gawain said, and Lancelot laughed in disbelief.

"I was _sleepwalking!_ I didn't do it on purpose."

"If it makes you feel any better," Vrena said, "I launched myself from a tree before." Everyone laughed at her confession.

"Why did you do that?" Asked a drunken Lancelot, slamming his mug onto the table.

"When I was little, one of my friends dared me three gold pieces to land on a high-ranking Bishop who was coming to collect money from Tirth…unfortunately, I missed and landed into a fire one of the house-wives had just assembled." She explained, receiving drunken looks of awe from everyone at the table.

"Didn't it hurt?" Gawain asked her curiously.

"Oh yes, I nearly burned to death." She replied a bit too calmly, "I survived though. I think that was when the witch rumors began spreading."

They all looked to Bors for the next testimonial.

* * *

-

Another fifteen minutes later, Vrena watched as Lancelot nearly fell off his bench from pure intoxication. That was when the statement finally sprang up, the one she had dreaded.

"It's been two days, and I haven't slept with anyone!" Lancelot chimed in a drunken tone.

Vrena and Tristan both held the other's gaze for the first time that night, and then picked up their glasses uniformly, taking gulps from their mugs. Arthur and Guinevere also sent each other looks as they too downed more from their own.

To make it worse, Galahad was also drunk and curious.

"The person I slept with isn't at this table!" He laughed, and Vrena shot Tristan another a look of amused guilt as they again picked up their drinks, Vrena finishing off what was left of her third mug and Tristan finally reaching the bottom of his first.

Vrena scowled. It was now the _couples_ being dogged on. Which was bad- Guinevere was drunk, and knew things that the others didn't.

"I haven't removed someone _else's_ clothing besides my own in a week." Gawain joined in. Tristan and Vrena both refilled their mugs and took another gulp of the alcohol, and so did Guinevere and Arthur. It wasn't good that in this game, everyone seemed to know when you were lying. They had no escape.

Lucky for her, Bors moved back onto different topics, and they avoided any more questions of such…until they made it back to Lancelot.

Vrena nearly choked on air at what he said.

"I haven't gone far enough with a lady to get her with child."

Everyone had their eyes on Vrena, whose face had turned as red as the flames lighting up. She and Tristan looked to each other, not knowing if he should drink to it or not. Guinevere also glanced at Vrena, but then turned away as to not attract any more attention towards the poor girl, who was now a nervous wreck.

_No, we will keep it a secret_…Vrena shook her head a bit so only Tristan would notice, and he turned around to face the table's occupants again- not reaching for his glass, and the turn moved on to Galahad.

_That_, they would have to keep secret until she could prove otherwise.

* * *

-

* * *

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Well…that was interesting.

I think I've made the future plot obvious by now :P

Of course, some things are still going to happen while the knights are at the wall. –Wink wink-

Oh yea, not to be to blunt about it, but…you know…should it be a boy or girl? X

**And I will now take requests for scenes**! Got one you would like me to write? Feel free to tell me.

III Cari III


	21. Your Own Decision

**_Siopao_**- O.o –is eaten-

**_Calliann_**- Yea, I think it's definitely going to be a girl. Much more funny scenes can be added if the kid is a girl…Like her trying to be more like mommy and kicking daddy in the leg!

**_SpectralLady_**- Glad you liked the picture, and glad you liked the chapter:D I think the kid is going to be a girl.

**_Babak_**- Haha. I don't think I'll have them get married…I'll save that for Guinevere and Arthur. Tristan getting married would just…I dunno, it doesn't fit him when I try to think about it. This I must ponder on…

**_AngelsBlade_**- o.o everyone else seems to like the pregnancy idea. But then, the mystery is, Vrena doesn't even know if she is yet. So we have to wait until things happen. And yea, male children have definitely been done to death, not just in fanfiction, but some of the real legends as well. Damn men…

**_Zeriae_**-sighs- she doesn't have any idea if she's pregnant or not. If you slept with a guy and made sweet love and –cough cough-ed, what would you do? You would get a pregnancy test. But yea, this is around 600 A.D., they don't have those yet.

**_Esther'nEra-guardians-ofChaos_**- xD I knew it…

**_katemary77_**- Aww, hate me now:P maybe I'll do a good job at it, maybe you guys will locate my house and kill me with a cheese grater, who knows.

**_Dw_**- yay :D

**_Lenao_**- A boy would be interesting, but a girl would just bring the story…some interesting humor. See one of my above review replies for details on that xD…

**_OP_**- DUDE:D thank you!

**_Gondorian Archer_**- If you liked him last chapter, imagine this chapter: it's the next morning already, and he's completely plotzed. :P

**By the way, guys**- you can start feeling depressed now, because this is officially the last chapter! ;-; I know, I'm really sad to end it too. I cried while I was in the shower, and my parents are all like, "o.O wtf is wrong with you?"

…I can't really tell them that the reason I cried was because I came up with a cool idea for a Jack Sparrow/OC fanfic and had to leave my Tristan/Vrena fluffness to the imagination of the reviewers. But yea, thank you to everyone who ever reviewed for this story! I put a lot of time and effort into it, and you guys made me feel good about myself! I hope you won't be to angry at me for ending this way, so I tried to make the ending light and crispy, if you get the hint. :P

* * *

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**Chapter 21- Your Own Decision**

**-**

* * *

-

After all the drinking was done with, and Lancelot had fallen to the ground in a heap of drunkenness, it was Arthur and Gawain (the most sober of the knights) who took Tristan back to his room. Why them? _Well…_

Guinevere looked to her right at Vrena, who was _without_ a doubt not getting up from her bench with the help of someone who could walk. By the end of the game, all the knights seemed persistent in getting her as drunk as possible.

Thinking back to when they had washed themselves at the inn, she began to think of the woman's situation- which was _not_ looking first-rate.

'_If she indeed was with child thanks to Tristan, we will not know until it becomes obvious. And it has only been two days, as of now._' Guinevere thought to herself as she helped lift Vrena from the bench, wrapping the girl's arm over her shoulder for support. She would find Vrena a separate room, which she doubted she would be leaving for a while. The poor woman will be screaming with headaches by morning.

After getting Vrena into a bed and allowing her to fall into an inebriated sleep, Guinevere closed the wooden door behind her and decided to come back in the morning with a bucket and some wet rags. _Yes, that would do_…

Being sober enough herself, Guinevere decided it would be good for her to walk around a bit…breathe some of the fresh air and calm herself. '_Those two must really have been hiding their feelings for some time to go that far…_' she could not suppress a laugh. But then halted it as thoughts wandered into her head- '_If Vrena will be expecting child in the next nine moons…that would mean the babe would be born around the warm season. But what will **Tristan** think of a child?_' She tried to shun these thoughts from her head, breathing a deep sigh.

She was walking past a house, the last one before you would run into the wall- when she heard voices. The one speaking she recognized as Arthur's, and she did not know who the other tone of voice belonged to until she peeked her head around the side of the place. Was she hiding? _No, no_, she was simply trying not to intrude on important manly conversation.

"Surely you have others that can do that, Bishop Germanius! I and my men have just put our lives in the hands of death sunrise this morning, and you want to send us out again? I beg you to understand that they are all free men now. You have given them their discharge papers, you should _know_ this!"

"Artorius, _please_, calm yourself."

"I will not calm myself! Is this the will of god you are asking of me, or your own?"

"This is the will of the pope and god's. One of his horsemen rode in to me today after maneuvering around those piles of dead bodies outside the wall, and he sees you and your men with the capability to accomplish a simple task of the lord."

"At least explain to me this task in detail before you continue, so I know whether I should heed your words or vomit on your shoes."

Guinevere kept listening. '_Is this man trying to convince Arthur to ride out again when he only just returned? This selfish god of the Romans tries to control every aspect of human life!_' She exclaimed to herself and continued to tune in to the Bishop.

"The pope has been receiving word that a high-ranking official in northern proximity-"

"_Which?_"

"Not one of Rome or Briton, but in Lothian."

"So Lot is causing trouble again?"

"No, I am afraid that king Lot is not the concern- yet."

"Then _continue_."

"Yes, yes…recently, the pope of a Roman-established area in the north is being suspected of planning to break oaths with our Roman churches-"

"If this duty you wish of me is for the church, then I cannot stay any longer and listen to you."

"Let me _finish_. Lot is already aware of these rumors, and has informed us that if we do not sustain the northern churches from causing mayhem in his kingdom, he will not hesitate to send out his entire military to bring them down himself."

Guinevere heard a heavy sigh come from Arthur.

"So you are telling me that if this pope of Lothian is not subdued by the Church of Rome before Lot can get to them…?" Arthur awaited more elaboration.

"It will be trouble for _all_ of us. All the pope of our church needs done is for you to find out if these rumors are factual, and if they are, report back immediately."

"And how will this benefit me and my men? I will repeat myself, we are _free_. I hope you can strike a good bargain, or the answer is no."

Guinevere took a breath when the Bishop did not reply right away. She knew what an uprising and corrupt church meant. She knew that Lot of Lothian, the king from the north, would _not_ hesitate to rid the Romans from his land. He had never liked the idea of them there in the first place, but it was necessary to keep oaths with Rome. If Lot poured water on the flames of the churches…that would _also _be breaking an oath.

Now that she thought about this, it turned out to be quite serious. If the Roman churches in these parts of the south did not discover first that the northern pope was planning a revolt…that would not be good at all.

"Artorius, good man of Rome, the pope trusts you and your men. If you do not want to speak to them about it, perhaps _I_ should."

"They will not listen to you. We will both speak to them about it…but I doubt they will agree. We will discuss it at the round table noon tomorrow, if you are still here."

"Agreed then. Thank you." The Bishop said to Arthur in a grateful tone. Poking her head around the corner of the house, she saw Arthur coming her way. If any time, this was not one to be hiding behind a house. She would pretend she had accidentally overheard. She walked out from behind the dwelling, almost running in to the commander.

"What are you doing out here so late?" He shot her a curious look.

"Walking, star gazing, listening to discussions of the state." She said freely. There was no point in trying to hide anything from the man she loved, it was futile. Especially if that man was Arthur Castius.

"So you know then…" he said solemnly, looking to the ground.

And then Guinevere was struck with an idea.

"Yes, I know. I would like to be there tomorrow when you speak to your men, and so would Vrena. It would mean a lot to both of us if we were included." Guinevere proposed, and Arthur allowed a restraining look to cross his features. But he knew if he said no, they would appear before him at his round table anyways.

"That is fine with me…just…don't _upset_ Germanius. He will certainly not think it wise that I invite women to my meetings." Arthur laughed. Guinevere laughed as well.

She would go to Vrena in the morning with the bucket and rag, as planned, but also an invitation.

* * *

-

When Vrena awoke that morning, a skull-splitting headache nearly threw her out of her bed. Remembering the four mugs of beer she had consumed that previous night, she sat up and clutched her hand to her forehead, the source of the pain. She felt as if she was about to spit bile all over the floor, her stomach nauseous and screaming at her for torturing it so.

She heard the door of her room open, and looked up to see Guinevere carrying a bucket and a wet rag. Silently she swore to herself that she would never in her life go near the foul drink again.

She took the rag from Guinevere and put it to her forehead, feeling relieved at the cool dampness that engulfed her. The woman sat the bucket next to her bed and took a seat on a chair that was placed in one of the room's corners.

"Don't worry, you will be feeling better by high noon. If you think _you're_ suffering, you should see Lancelot." Guinevere joked, trying to make Vrena feel better. Vrena managed a laugh at trying to imagine Lancelot after all the drinks he had consumed during the night.

With the cool rag on her head and a pillow behind her back, she began to feel much better. Guinevere had also brought a herbal drink that tasted just as nasty as liquor, but Vrena was persuaded by the woman that it would settle her stomach and cure the pounding in her head. Right now, that was all she wanted to get rid of, so she downed the vile beverage quickly until none was left.

Guinevere left, but then came back by the time the sun had raised high into the sky, shining through the small stone window of the room. Vrena had pretty much dazed off, and had no knowledge of how late into the day it was. She was feeling better, yes…but looking into a small mirror she had found on top the table to her left, she had a redness beneath her eyes and looked as pale as snow. She swore again that she would never drink, even to save her life.

"Arthur is about to have a final meeting at the round table with the other knights and Bishop Germanius. We've been invited."

Vrena looked up to Guinevere and saw that she was not fooling around.

"Why did he bother inviting _women_?" Vrena laughed, curious as to why it mattered if she showed up. She honestly did not feel like leaving bed. But Guinevere answered her sincerely, giving her no choice.

"Apparently the Bishop had important news of an incident occurring up north. Arthur invited us because we both fought at the battle yesterday, and the Bishop agreed that it was only respectful, even though he did not like the idea of women joining the gathering."

"…Should I?"

"Yes, I think you need some fresh air either way."

Vrena bowed her head and moved herself from the cot, planting her feet firmly onto the floor to steady herself. Her walking turned out to be better, at any rate. She was not tipping over or swerving, and she was proud to say that she did not run into any walls on the way to the round table.

She was surprised to see that the outside of the dwelling looked the same as many of the other houses- battered and worn. But the inside she saw was elegant and lush, like she had just stepped into a castle. They were the first there, which she was sure Guinevere had planned.

Arthur's room -that was also located somewhere inside the same housing, Guinevere pointed out, was just down the hall past the two double doors. Vrena didn't even bother to ask how she knew all of this.

They waited for a few minutes, and then Arthur finally came into the hall. He seemed aggravated, tired, and worn out- he quickly sat down on one of the fancy chairs, paying no attention to her or Guinevere.

"I'm guessing they were not pleased?" Guinevere asked him, and Vrena knew she was referring to '_they_' as in the knights.

"Most of them were still _asleep_, and Lancelot's nearly dead. When I tried to get him up, he kept mumbling some nonsense about not having enough to drink. So when I went to tell Gawain, he agreed to drag him out, and Bors said he would assist Tristan." Arthur said in a forced voice.

Vrena then felt a pang of guilt. _She had been so drunk and sick during the night, she had forgotten to tend to Tristan's wounds!_ She made a mental note that after the meeting, she would help him back to his room and tend to it then. It needed to be kept clean, or it was at risk for infection.

Before long, Galahad appeared looking completely smashed, if that's even a way to put it. His hair was messed up a bit from laying on it the wrong way, and it was obvious that he had thrown on his clothing in a rush.

Tristan and Bors were the next to wander in, and the scout managed by himself to claim a seat next to Vrena. Remembering that she needed to clean his wound, she leaned forward to converse quietly.

"I need to talk to you afterwards." She informed him inaudibly, and he nodded slightly- out of everyone who had entered the room of the round table so far, he was the only one who did not have a pounding headache or look like a wreck. He looked as he usually did- hair windswept and braided. She silently wondered to herself if he had ever combed it in his life.

Her observations were cut short, however, as Gawain waltzed into the room with Lancelot flung over his shoulder. She could not help grinning as Gawain literally threw him on top of the round table and began yelling into the hung-over knight's ear.

"_Wake up_, Lancey! We haven't got all day." Gawain chimed, and Lancelot let out a moan of disapproval, sprawling out on the top of the table, a hand clasped to his head. Guinevere was right…he _was_ worse off then her. But then, he was the one that started that damn game.

Lancelot forced himself to slide off the table, nearly landing onto the floor- but he caught himself and threw himself into a chair, looking worse then Galahad. His eyes were unfocused as he stared at the vibrant reds and gold's of the round table, not paying attention to any of them.

After a longer amount of waiting, the Bishop and his priest companion entered through the double doors, and they all went silent. The knights glared at him in resentment…this was the man whom had sent them on that last dreadful mission. Vrena wondered what exactly this high-ranking religious man wanted to speak with them about.

"My former knights," Arthur spoke- making sure '_former_' was stressed, "Bishop Germanius has offered us a proposal. Before you spring from your chairs and walk away, try to listen to _some_ of his news." Arthur finished, sitting himself back down into his chair. The Bishop smiled, cleared his throat, and stood up.

As the man began talking about the welfare of the north, Vrena became uninterested. What the north had to do with the south, she did not know as of yet. But as the Bishop talked on, she listened intently to the concerns his pope was having with a Roman region in Lothian, and that if the church in the north was not restrained by the Church of Rome, Lot of Lothian threatened to rid of them himself- which would break all oaths that have ever been established between Rome and the north…which was _not_ a good thing.

"And what do you expect us to do about it? I do not get involved in any predicaments with the church, and don't plan to." Lancelot slurred, glaring at the Bishop. Lancelot was the first to speak up after the Germanius had laid forth his proposal.

Vrena sat quiet while the men began discussing among themselves.

"This is more of a job for rogues then for knights. Why don't you strike a deal with one of them? They would be glad to do it for pay." Vrena spoke aloud, and the whole table went silent and stared at her. The Bishop seemed taken aback by a woman coming forward with query, and Vrena was not surprised at all when he sent her a frown.

Now, you see, Vrena as a Woad child remembered meeting rogues in person. Sometimes when Merlin or his scouts could not gather information on their own, they relied on employed Rogues to take care of it for them.

In growing up, Vrena had always wondered why she had not _bothered_ to claim the title of rogue for herself. She had all the skills required to work as one: _making bargains, enterprising, skill with the bow_ (which was all she needed, _anyone_ could stab someone with a dagger), _disguising herself_ (as she had said earlier, she had always wished to impersonate a nun), _and most importantly- the ability to cover up your tracks and keep silent_. The only thing that had prevented her from advancing in the occupation of a rogue was the attack on her village, and her being sent to Marius' town before leaving to be taken care of at Tirth.

So as of now, Vrena was highly considering accepting this job if the knight's wouldn't.

"The Roman church does not associate with scoundrels who steal and hunt for money and bounties." The bishop said as-a-matter-of-factly, holding his head high. Guinevere was shooting her a look, and so was Tristan.

* * *

-

Tristan simply stared at Vrena, sitting all smug in her chair. _What point was she trying to get to with questioning the pope about employing rogues?_

He remembered a few days ago back at the tavern, when Arthur had asked her what she was planning to do with her life from that point on. They all thought she was joking when she had mentioned joining the British Rogue, but now he was again lost at how her mind worked, which always frustrated him.

Yes, in her childhood she was trained as a Woad, which gives her some skill. But as of yet, she has merely helped them with simple tasks that only involve her shooting arrows from a bow. Now that Tristan thought on the subject, he realized that _none_ of them really knew what she was good at.

…Either way, he was not going to let her go anywhere without him.

* * *

-

"Well, you've said what you want accomplished; may I ask what the reward is?" Vrena asked the Bishop. If it was a lousy deal, she would try to strike it higher, and if that didn't work…he could forget it, she wasn't going anywhere.

To her, this was a chance to travel north to a place she had never been. She by no means enjoyed being in one place for a long time- that was why she was so happy as a child. You can wander the forests wherever you like as a Woad. But once she had been taken to Marius' town, she had always been confined within walls. It became worse once she had gone to Tirth, were women sat and did chores all day.

Also…it was a time for her to think about things. _Mainly_, yes, Tristan. If she could get away for long enough, it would give her time to focus on the matters at hand. Did she even _want_ a child? Once last night, she had been reminiscing about Tirth, and all those times she helped the midwives deliver babies. It looked painful, something she was not sure of doing.

But then, did she really want to rid herself of her own child? If she even **had** one? It was easy for a woman to get rid of it on the spot…Vrena knew all the ingredients needed to formulate the brew, and it could be done with common plants easily locatable in forests.

Her thoughts broke when the Bishop replied in a melancholic tone, sending her stares that made her want to go at him with a battering ram. But she tried to restrain herself and listen to what he had to say.

"It depends on how high the knights wish it." He said, putting an emphasis on '_knights_'. Vrena felt her blood boil. If this man wanted to play the sexist holy man- he had met his match.

When none of the knights answered, the Bishop looked around nervously. _Did he really think any of the men would take up his offer after what he had just put them through?_

"_Thirty_ gold pieces a day, and you have a deal." She said nonchalantly, crossing her arms and leaning back into her chair. She felt like the old Vrena again, daring enough to do anything, not the one mourning over past losses. If she was going to start clean, this was her chance.

"_Vrena!_" Guinevere hissed at her in disbelief.

"Do **not **make decisions for my men, lady." Arthur warned her in a hard tone. The rest of the knights were staring at her as if she had two heads, and Tristan was focusing his eyes into space, it seemed. He didn't show any sign of disapproval, which made her feel much better.

"I wasn't making decisions for _your_ men, Arthur, I was making them for myself." Vrena replied to him, a smile on her lips.

"_Thirty_ gold pieces per day, that's my offer." She said, turning back to the Bishop, whose expression looked as if a large stampede of wolves had just entered the room. She held his gaze for a few seconds before he finally spoke up.

"_Ten_."

"Twenty five..."

"Thirteen."

"Twenty _four_..."

"Fifteen?"

"Twenty _three_…"

"Sixteen?"

"Twenty _two_…"

"Seventeen?"

"Twenty _one_…"

"**Eighteen!**"

"Twenty and _three silver pieces_…"

"**Twenty**!"

"Deal." Vrena said evenly, The Bishop's eyes nearly burning holes into her. He quickly pulled himself back from where he had leaned forward onto the table and un-clenched his hands. Vrena also pulled back from were she had inclined forward and sat back into her chair.

"Count me in." Vrena nearly jumped at Tristan's voice from beside her, were he had finally begun to stare at something _besides_ the table. His eyes had locked with the Bishops, who shrunk back. She had to laugh at how imposing the scout was when he glared, and felt her stomach do more flips as his eyes met hers, then turned back to the priestly man, who just then had learned to count twenty plus twenty.

"That's _forty_ gold pieces a day then, split evenly to twenty." Germanius said, looking worried. If any more of the knights joined, that would be a hefty amount of gold for all of them if they took their sweet time with this task.

Unfortunately for Bishop Germanius, the rest of the knights caught on rather quickly.

"I'll go on vaca-" but Galahad was cut short from that sentence as Gawain slammed on his foot from under the table.

"I'll **_go_**." He corrected himself.

"Me as well." Gawain added, obviously finding the look on the Bishop's face amusing.

"I'll go! Just shut up, all of you, my head is about to burst open…" Lancelot groaned and slouched into his seat.

"Then that's that, we are all going north to unearth the information the pope wants to know about this…uprising." Arthur finalized the deal once Guinevere had given him a nod. Vrena was now at failure for words.

She had _lost_ her peaceful trip.

* * *

-

* * *

As Vrena looked back on how her life had changed so quickly in that mere month, she felt a tear stream down her cheek and land onto her dress- a green one like she had worn the day at the ice three years ago.

"_Ma_, no _cry!_ _Play!_" shouted the high and childish voice of her two-year old daughter, Annaleeze. Vrena let out a laugh of recollection, wiping the tear away from sight. Thinking back to those days, it made her realize how quickly memories can come back to kick you in the rear when you least expect them to.

Just a few more hours before the sun had climbed high into the sky, Arthur and the others will again return from another arranged meeting with allied Saxons troops stationed at the coast.

This was how it was every year- a few months she would be happy, the next few lonely and lost, and it would switch back and forth as the former knights would leave under request of the high king, usually to amend or establish truces with converted northmen from overseas. They were _paid_ to do it, of course.

Guinevere was sitting across from her in the grass as they watched Anna run around playfully, tumbling in the grass and soiling her dress- Vrena wished her childhood could have stayed that way.

They looked up towards the clearing of the trees, both of them hearing noises coming from the forests that rested along the borders of the town. From standing on top of a hill, you could easily see Hadrian's towering wall, not very far from the town. The noise became louder, and now Anna could hear it- hooves, beating on the ground. Not exactly a quick gallop, yet evenly paced.

Vrena smiled as the five knights on horses –_excluding Bors, whom Vanora banned from leaving the town until he knew how to properly make a bed, which was quite funny when you remembered that this was Bors_- rode out of the forest path that led to the western shores. Vrena had never been there, and when Tristan tried to explain to her once what the shores were like, it made her realize how little she had moved around since giving birth.

Anna squealed happily and ran towards her father, whom was dismounting Arvin. It was something they started doing whenever they had to be separated- he would take Arvin, and she would keep his steed for Anna to ride. She was indeed like her mother, always ready to try things.

After three years, she had expected her stomach to act normal around Tristan- he was still his silent and inexpressive self, which Anna always found fascinating. When one of the men would make a joke and he would not laugh, she would always say something like "_Ma, daddy is broken again! He didn't laugh at Lance-lot!_" In which Lancelot (usually the one making the jokes) would call their child '_the spawn_' and correct her for the thousandth time on how to pronounce his name.

She watched as Tristan bent down to hug his daughter- when Vrena had confirmed to him that she was with child so long ago, he didn't exactly know how to react. In fact, everyone seemed to know how to react _but_ him. But after she had finally given birth, though, and he got to hold Anna- it became more real to him, she guessed.

As Anna went to go pester 'Lance-lot', 'Gal-had', 'Ga-ain' and 'Ar-door' as she usually did, Tristan's eyes met hers, and Vrena quickly stood from the ground and walked over to him. The weeks seemed to pass by like years when he would leave, but nothing ever changed with him. He still had his disheveled and braided hair, dark eyes and the ability to send her gut flying in all different directions.

Is face showed hint of concern as he neared her, gazing into her eyes.

"You've been crying." He said, putting his forehead to hers. She had obviously not taken the time to wipe away the tears well enough, and her eyes did feel watery.

"If it looks like I have been crying, then it is from tears of joy." She smiled, loosing herself in his eyes while tugging at one of his long braids. He didn't seem to mind the tugging all that much anymore, especially after having his two-year-old daughter yank at it every time his head came within her small arms reach.

"We can't stay long…there are troops of northerners to the east that wish allegiance with the high king, but that will not take long. We'll leave tomorrow and be back before you know it." He explained and wrapped his arms around her waist, sending a chill down Vrena's spine. All these years, and her nervousness had never done away with itself. It never wore out, ever.

"_Well_," She said, grinning, "At least we have until dawn."

* * *

-

What a crappy way to end a story. You guys must hate my guts now.

bye-bye, guys! If any of you are PotC obsessed fan girls as well as Tristan obsessed, you might enjoy the story I'm starting soon!

I was thinking that when I get the spare time (and have drunken a good amount of Mountain Dew Code Red), I can add a little 'sequel' chapter. But as of now, I have no ideas for it :P

Thanks again to all of you! I love you all! (not like that, but you know) :D

III Cari III


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